Dangerous Games Indeed
by SecretsWithSouls00
Summary: And then, boom- It hits me. My name is Vale Flemming; I'm the one Jonah's talking to; And I have no family. /Vale Flemming. Is Vale Flemming here?/ The words bounce around in my head. Is Vale Flemming here? My knees wobble. My blood runs cold. And when I lift my gaze from the girl's to Jonah's, I know. Oh Panem, I finally know what's happening. I've been reaped. -CI By Yours Truly
1. Chapter 1: Getting Even With The Odds

**Hi guys. So, this is my first story. Sort of. Please read and review, and PLEASE, PLEASE, give me criticism! I seriously need it!**

I shift so that the leather is in my right hand, the knife in my left. I'm one of the few left-handers in Panem; Though I wish I'd gotten the rare blue eyes instead. I have to tense one shoulder above my ear to properly tan the strip of cloth, running my knife over the rough edges- My concentration completely focused on the task in front of me.

"What'd that sow ever do to you?" A voice behind me teases. I glance behind me and have to look down to see whoever's spoken- A girl with dark skin, hair and eyes, and an infectious smile. _"My_ papa says cows think too, y'know. You shouldn' be treatin' him so poorly."

It takes me a moment to realize she means the hide I'm using. "He doesn't have feelings," I mutter, clenching the piece until my knuckles go white. Tanning takes a lot more work than people give our District credit for; We're the ones that supply all the food, not them. Then again, its the Capitol hogging it.

The girl's still standing there- And then suddenly she's right up on her toes, standing on the little box in front of the stand I'm tanning on. "Y'know the reaping's today," She informs me, her brown eyes wide. They're flecked with gold, and so big and round and innocent that I have to look away first.

"You shouldn't be worrying about reapings. You're barely eight."

"I'm _seven and three quarters!"_ She growled.

"Be lucky, then. You've got five more years." I say it so softly, I don't think she hears me.

I hear a whistle- No, a bell. A sharp ringing that pounds inside my skull, echoing throughout the entire clearing. The people freeze, their faces turning towards the sky, because we all know what the bell means.

The reaping is about to begin.

The Peacekeepers in our District are strict, so no one argues when we're sorted into lines- Twelve to eighteen. I shift behind a girl with unusually red hair and big, brown eyes. She glances over her shoulder at me, wrinkles her nose, and returns her attention to the stage.

All around us men in crisp white suits and helmets stand, rifles in hand. Their helmets are the scariest- Blank and cold, just like the Capitol. My stomach churns and I glance away, my gaze slitted.

Children bustle and talk- At least the youngest ones do. My line, and the older teens, know better than to talk. Each one of us has at least ten tesserae; Eleven times our name will be in that bowl. The thought throbs at my brain, and I press my lips together, my skin tingling.

It's a cloudy day, but with everyone in one place, the clearing is hot, and charged with electricity; Hundreds of people, adults and kids alike, waiting for our escort to step onto the stage. When she does, she looks ridiculous- Don't they all?- with orange and green hair, a too-big orange skirt, and green stockings and shoes. Her eyelashes are purple.

"Welcome one, welcome all! Aren't we excited for the _99th Hunger Games!_ She twirls, showing off her hideous neon skirt and flashing teeth that are tattooed with stars and swirls.

"Oh my, aren't you all a bundle of joy," She teases to the silent crowd. Everyone stares at her with a mix of disgust and boredom. She blushes, then flips a lock of bright green hair from her face. "Well, it _is_ the 99th Hunger Games...And we all know what that means, don't we? QUARTER QUELL!" She claps her hands together like a little girl, her eyes bright.

No one makes a sound.

She clears her throat, having the decency to look embarrassed. "Ah, yes...As I was saying." She scoots over to the table with the bowl and plucks an envelope between two inch-long fingernails. "For _this_ Quarter Quell, in reminder that war is full of difficult choices..." She trails off, her glossed lips pulling into a little _o._ My heart plummets between my toes.

"In remembrance that war is full of difficult choices, and that the districts led to their own downfall," She continues, her voice strangled, "Not only will each District enter _double_ the tributes.."

"But this year's tributes will be handpicked by the district's last Victor."

The girl in front of me- The one with the flaming hair- faints.

A few others go pale, but no one else is quite as dramatic. Our escort- Jangerine Tinkers, I think- Blinks rapidly, then slips the paper back into the yellowed envelope and sets it down carefully, as if she's afraid it'll detonate.

She clears her throat. "Jonah Fife? Erika Peters? If you'd please carry out these...Wonderful change of events." She gives a tight smile, then steps back.

A girl with reddish-brown hair and hazel eyes steps up to the stage. From behind her slides a slim, fit boy with dark brown hair and hooded green eyes. Both of them look like they want to drop dead- Which would suck, seeing as they'd worked so hard to win in their own arena.

The girl, Erika, tilts her chin up, her eyes gleaming. She's much leaner and meaner than the male tribute, and I can see muscles rippling beneath her dark gray shirt as she studies us as if we're science experiments. I can see the hurt in her eyes, too, though- The betrayal. Could the Capitol really be so cruel?

"You." She's not pointing to me, thank Panem- No, her finger has landed on a boy, maybe seventeen, with brownish-blonde hair and russet eyes. I realize her logic- Pick an older tribute, and maybe they'll have a better chance of survival.

"Kyle!" A girl, off to the sideline, pipes. I glance over and meet the eyes of the mirror image of the tribute, only she's smaller. "That's not fair! Pick again!"

Erika's eyes slide to the child, and her lips curl in a sneer. "The Games aren't fair, girlie." Her voice is deep and cold. She flicks her finger, beckoning her chosen. "We don't have all day."

The boy hesitates, and I can see his eyes glittering with unshed tears. He glances at his sister, and his face tightens- But instead of refusing, he bows stiffly, and marches up the steps.

The little girl's protests rise to wails. "You can't do that! Pick someone else! Pick someone else!" A Peacekeeper hustles forward and curls his fingers around the girl's arm. She's dragged off kicking and screaming- "Pick someone else!"

Silence falls over the crowd. It was quiet before, but now, everyone is still as death- Faces grim and fingers clenched into fists. Erika breaks the silence first, jerking her chin towards the boy chosen. "Your name?"

She has to say it twice before he answers, the empty, stoic look leaving his gaze. "Kyle. Kyle Smith."

Erika tilted her chin upward, a dangerous, calculating look in her eyes. "Congratulations, Kyle." Her voice is dry, like it's an old joke.

The next boy picked goes much quieter- I doubt he has any relatives. He slides up to the stage, his shoulders hunched- He has dark hair and eyes, and skin so pale its almost blue. He mutters his name, and Erika has to repeat it in that booming voice of hers- "Karter Nyles!"

Jonah steps up to the stage, his lips curled in a little frown. He sweeps one hand towards a girl, about twelve, with stringy brown hair and blue eyes. Before he can even say, 'you!', An older girl who looks exactly like her shoves her way to the front of the sixteen-year-old-line. She nearly knocks me over, but I'm too stunned to care.

"I volunteer as tribute!" Her voice is practically a shriek, and it cracks in the middle. Jonah's face twists in surprise, but she's already scuttling up the stage, swiping tears from her eyes and muttering curses under her breath. She clears her throat and stammers, "Wylie Hansen!" The girl whirls on her heel and stands stock-still besides Kyle, and I know it takes every ounce of her willpower to ignore her little sister, who is shouting, "No! I volunteer! I volunteer!" A Peacekeeper doesn't take her away, though. Maybe because he predicts what will happen- That she'll crumple to her knees, sobbing into her hands and shaking her head as if it's all just a bad dream. The other twelve-year olds give her a wide birth, casting her looks that range from sympathy to hesitance to disgust.

It's Jonah's turn again. He scans the crowd quickly, like looking too long at one person will cause him physical pain, and then his gaze lands on the person behind me, and the breath whooshes from my lungs. I'm safe.

Except heads are turning. One, two, now five people are staring at me- And then more, until it feels like all of District 10 has their eyes on mine. I glance behind me, waiting for the girl to head up to stage. But she's still not getting at it- _She's_ staring at me too, and then her brow creases, like someone's just said a joke and I didn't get it.

Because that's what this all must be. A joke. I realize someone's been talking, and then I realize that it's not just someone, it's Jonah. Jonah is talking.

"Vale Flemming," He repeats, his voice tight. "Is Vale Flemming here?"

 _Poor girl,_ I think. _I wonder if she has any siblings like Kyle._

People are still staring. And then, _boom-_ It hits me. _My_ name is Vale Flemming. _I'm_ the one Jonah's talking to. And I have no family.

 _Vale Flemming. Is Vale Flemming here?_ The words bounce around in my head. _Is Vale Flemming here?_

My knees wobble. My blood runs cold. And when I lift my gaze from the girl's to Jonah's, I know. Oh Panem, I finally know what's happening.

I've been reaped.

 **Hi, guys! You're welcome to submit tributes- I really need some. I've got Kyle and Vale, of course, but I still need a whole lot more, don't I? I'll post a list on my profile too, in case the ones on my chapters aren't as updated. Please review, and if you do, feel free to give me some criticism!**


	2. Chapter 2: There's No Good In Goodbye

**Hia, guys! I really need to find better names for these chapters...Anyway, remember, if you want to submit any characters, feel free to do it in PM** **or** **review! Also, please give me criticism. I know I need it.**

 _I've been reaped._

Hundreds of eyes on mine. Even more whispers, which start out small and then grow to a low, conceivable hum, swirling around my ears, my eyes, my mind. _Who will volunteer for her? Will she go up already? Isn't that the tanner's chap, eh?_

 _Vale Flemming? Is Vale Flemming here?_

My vision came into focus again. A Peacekeeper strode towards me- all sharp edges and dull glass and crisp, white cleanliness. I shy away from him and am pushed forward almost immediately- Not by another Peacekeeper, but by the teenagers. The crowd parts for me, but there's more pity and anger on their faces than awe. I force myself to take a step forward, and then another, gravel crunching beneath my worn leather boots.

 _Up the stairs._

 _Around the corner._

 _Stand by Jonah._ I feel like a computer. I do as my brain tells me, my face blank, my muscles tight- And he has to repeat it not twice, but four times, before I understand he's asking me my name.

"Vale Flemming," I say, and then he nods. I don't know why he asked me. I don't know how he knew my name.

Our escort slides forward again, fluttering her lashes and giving a cheeky, dimpled smile. She has a jewel in that dimple, I think. An orange, sparkly one that only makes her uglier.

"Well, isn't this an exciting turn of events! Why don't we go on to the Justice House, yes? GIVE IT UP FOR OUR 99TH HUNGER GAMES TRIBUTES!" She does another little twirl, but there's no response- No response but stoic faces and angry looks.

Her heels clack almost painfully loudly in the silence of the stadium. Then she disappears behind a curtain, and I see yet another Peacekeeper- no, four of them. They flank us on either side, and I wonder why; It's not like we're too young to walk.

Then I look down, and the Peacekeeper has to catch me, his ice-cold hand curling around my arm, so scarecrow-thin, and dragging me up again.

The people hate us. I know they hate us, because they're sneering- Sneering and yelling and muscling each other out of the way, until the commotion rises to a dull roar- One that doesn't leave my head, not when I see the men in the white suits spread out like water and tackle the crowd, one by one- Old or young, female or male, rebelling or no. I hear the _cracks_ of whips and I know there will be a trial tonight. A little girl, maybe six, is smothered by the crowd, and goes down wailing. She's flung away from the group but it makes no difference because I can still see the people they a _re_ hurting- Whips hurled at faces and limbs gripped as the bodies are thrown to the ground.

Someone throws a ball of leather- where they got it, I don't know. It smacks the girl, Wylie, right in the head, and her eyes widen in surprise before she crumples to the ground.

The inhabitants of District 10 are rebelling. They jostle and shout and kick and punch, but the Peacekeepers in our part of Panem have always been some of the strictest. Soon enough, they clear away- Thousands of white suits smudged with dirt and blood and the President-knows-what-else, faces stoic and helmets blank as ever. They leave bodies- bodies crumpled and thrown and twisted and heaped like mounds of garbage. Suddenly I can't look anymore, and I bury my face in one hand, choking back a sob.

It's always been hard to hold back tears, for me. They roll down my face and I have to swipe them away so the cameras don't see them. The Peacekeeper doesn't care about my grief- He yanks me forward by the same arm, and I'm dragged past the people, the bodies, the blood, to the curtains.

There's no goodbye for us.

We're taken to the Justice Building, but no one comes. Everyone is hurt or dead or healing, and the Peacekeepers have cornered off this section of our land anyway. A line of them stand in front of the door, rifles ready and helmets glittering coldly in the light of the sun. Yes, the sun. It seems a cruel joke that it should come out now, only to have to shine upon so many limp red bodies. The thought makes my gut twist and I have to let my mind go blank again.

One of the Peacekeepers had dragged Wylie here, and now she's in a chair- No, a sofa, cradling her head with a cup of ice, her knees drawn up to her face. I imagine she's replaying everything from the moment her sister got reaped, and suddenly I'm glad I have no family- No one to hurt for.

Kyle is standing against the wall, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed; Not in anger, but in confusion, maybe grief. I ignore him, too. The other male tribute, Karter, is sitting on the carpet, fiddling with the strands of wool. He's already stained it with dirt, but he either doesn't know or doesn't care, and I try not to either.

"Five minutes." I never knew Peacekeepers could talk so quietly. His voice isn't soft, though; It's sharp and low, like he's commanding us to do something and we have no choice but to do it. Which is true.

Time passes quickly. Another Peacekeeper comes in- I can tell he's different because he has a big red smudge right over his heart, but he doesn't seem to notice. He scans all of us, except we can't scan him, because he's in a suit. Then he barks, "Dimond," and my head whips towards him. Who's Dimond?

A girl steps from behind him- Maybe twenty, with glossed, bright purple hair and stars tattooed on the sides of her face. She has no makeup, and her outfit is normal, which confuses me. I can't tell if she's from the Capitol or if she's a wannabe Career.

"Greetings, tributes. Isn't it lovely that we can all be in the same room?" She smiles, but its a fake smile because it doesn't reach her eyes. The rest of us don't even try- we just stare at her, waiting.

She blinks. "Er..Right. Well, which one of you are mine?" She seems to remember we don't know either and leans forward, on her toes, to murmur something in the Peacekeeper's ear. I think that's stupid, since he has on a helmet, but it seems effective enough.

"You," She hums, pointing a painted finger right at my face. I stand, my face blank, and stalk over to her. I have a right to be rude in my own district.

"I'm Dimond," She chirps, and I respond by narrowing my eyes. _Yeah, buddy, I noticed. And you know my name already, don't you?_

As if she can read the message in my eyes, she gives a small bob of the head. "Yes, and you're Vale, aren't you? What a lovely name. Come, we have work to do." She twirls, which doesn't look as bad as when our escort does it because she has on baggy, light purple pants instead of a fluffy neon skirt. She skips off, and I glance back one more time- At the Peacekeeper, his face stoic and one hand casually fingering his rifle. Kyle, who stares at me, his eyes glittering with an unspoken message: _Go. We'll be fine._ Wylie, giving me one last miserable look before squeezing her eyes shut. Karter is still playing with the furniture.

I take a deep breath and turn away from them all, my shoulders hunched. I know I won't win these games- Not with beauty, or intelligence, or strength. But my designer- Dimond- glances back at me, her eyes sparkling.

And I think I can try.

 **So, a pretty cool chapter, eh? I'll try to post at least two chapters a week. Remember, feel free to submit OCs.**


	3. Chapter 3: The Blame Game

**Greetings one and all! Please read and review, and feel free to add criticism. I know I need it!**

The train ride is silent- I sit on one end and Dimond on the other. Every once in a while she flashes me a smile, and every time I know she doesn't mean it. Eventually I turn away from her, curling my arms around my middle and hugging my knees to my chest. I really do need to sleep.

Except I can't. Not only is it still daytime, but the memory of the rebellion remain stuck in my head- I can't get rid of it, no matter how hard I try. There hadn't been a revolt such as that once since the Girl On Fire, and that was over twenty years ago.

That's not what's really bothering me though. I'm _angry-_ Not at my District, or at Dimond, or even at the Capitol.

No, I'm angry at Jonah.

He chose me. He looked me straight in the eye- He knew I would go off to an arena that I may never come back to- and He said my name. He _knew_ what he was doing. He _knew_ I had no chance.

He betrayed me.

Sure, I'd never known him. But he could of chosen one of our stronger tributes- The kids that go off to ride horses and butcher pigs and hunt. Our district is one of livestock, but I've never been one for killing. And I know that's all I'll have to do now.

I know I'm going to die.

I have no weapon- I can't throw knives or knock arrows or even wield a sword. I can mix paint- I can skin rabbits- and I can weave and tan leather. None of that will help me in the arena unless I weave a trap; But I know I'm not that good.

My shoulders slump. _How am I going to win this?_ I lift my head ever so slightly to stare out the window- My District passes by in a blur, all yellow and green fields and a few sparse trees. Tears gather in my eyes. I'll never see my home again- Never smell the wool of my sheep, or the crisp tang of leather. I'll never skin another rabbit. I'm leaving it all behind- My aunt, my work, my _life. Once I'm inside that arena, there's no guarantee I'm coming back out._

As if my designer could read my thoughts, she leaned forward, cupping one long, slender hand under her chin. "Vale, dear. Look at me, will you?"

I hunch my shoulders up to my ears but spare a glance in her direction- One full of heated anger, one that says nothing but _Leave me alone._ Either she's bad at reading signs or she's careless of my true feelings.

"You know why we separated you four, don't you? Usually, you'd all file onto the train, but..With those scoundrel citizens and their protests, we thought it best to give you some time to yourself." _By yourself, you mean while I'm watched by cameras- and by you._

Dimond blinked, then leaned forward even more, until her elbows were touching her knees. "That's not the _real_ reason, of course. I want you to know, Vale Flemming, that what happened is not your fault, _or_ Josh's."

"Jonah." It comes automatically, and my voice is flat; Uncaring. Dimond's eyes pull together. She has a piercing right on the bridge of her nose, and she rubs it with her index finger subconsciously, eyeing me. "Yes, Jonah. Of course. It's not his fault. He didn't _want_ to pick you, sweetheart."

"If he didn't want to pick me, why did he have to say my name? How did he _know_ my name? I'm sixteen. He could of chosen someone as old as Wylie, or as experienced as Kyle. I'm a _tanner,_ for Panem's sake!" I bite out, then clamp my mouth shut and turn away from her again. _Why can't she go away?_

"He trusted you, dear. He knew you would win-"

"Don't lie to me, Dimond." I'm on my feet in an instant, and I stride towards my designer, fire in my eyes. She barely moves when I curl one fist around the cuff of her jacket and drag her up until we're nose-to-nose. My teeth are clenched so hard they ache- My fingers burn against the fabric of her clothing- and my entire body is tense. "We both know I won't win this. We both know I don't have it in me," I spit. Then, in a lower voice, I add," I'm tired of being lied to."

I don't realize I'm breathing so hard until I hear it- that's how silent she is. I'm trembling, and as I look down, I can see one hand curled into a fist- Aimed straight at her face. My anger evaporates, replaced with dread. Bile rises in my throat and I stagger back, nearly tripping on the expensive wool carpet.

"I have to go," I croak. The bile is almost to my mouth now. I whirl around and blow through the car doors, looking for a bathroom- Heck, even a bag. Thankfully I find the former first. Light sears my eyes as I lurch forward, letting loose. When my stomach is empty, I wipe my mouth, my vision hazy, and sink to the bathroom floor.

The tile beneath me is probably more than anything I own. It's blindingly white, and studded with jewels and carved symbols that mean nothing to me. As I study them, the figures swim and glow red and green in the light, and I have to close my eyes. I can still taste the bile in my mouth.

I feel disgusting- Both inside and out. My tousled pixie cut is mashed to one side and sticky with sweat. My eyes are red and puffy from the tears I didn't know had started until I felt water on my hand. I look like I've just gotten run over by a truck after eating a sour lemon, and I sure felt like it too.

It hits me just how pathetic this is- Me about to pass out on the bathroom floor of the train on the way to the Capitol. If I can't survive one reaping, what will I do during the Games? My stomach churns, but there's no bile this time. I clench my shirt anyway, waiting for the feeling to subside. _I've screwed up._

After what seems like hours but is probably only minutes I find the courage to get to my feet. My legs burn and wobble, but I use the counter as a crutch, hobbling my way to the door. Then I pause.

 _I should probably get cleaned up first._ And so I go through the labor of washing my hands and face, smoothing out my crumpled, stained shirt, wiping the last tears from my eyes and rubbing my fingers along my lids so they're not as puffy. When that's done, I comb my hair with an improvised brush- My hand. Then I square my shoulders and stalk outside.

The first thing I want to do is watch the official announcements of the Games, which are usually by the President herself. I know they've started already, but this train is high-tech; They should at _least_ have day-old news.

My boots crunch loudly against the carpet, and as I walk, my mind wanders. I think of how shabby I must look, with my worn clothing and boots and no jewelry. But this is a train, not a hotel; I know I can't stop for a makeover.

"Get it together, Vale. You're not here to accessorize," I murmur. The train is fairly small, and I find the television easily; It's flat-screen, but old, mounted on one wall. There's no chairs so I lean against the wall and cross my arms.

As if the screen knows what I want it crackles to life, and there stands the President herself- President Deiadora Snow, and her assistant Pence.

"Welcome one, welcome all, citizens of Panem! Welcome to the announcement of not the ninety-seventh, not the ninety-eight, but the _ninety-ninth annual Hunger Games!"_

The crowd roars with approval. Someone even throws a rose, which I find ironic. Pence scrambles to catch it, fails, and has to hustle back to her master's side before anyone can notice her mistake.

"And not only has it been ninety-eight years since our first Games, ladies and gentlemen, but it has been Twenty-five since our Quarter Quell- The events we all love and know, the anniversary that symbolizes not only our struggle for peace, but our past thirst for war. What was the last one, Pence?" Here the President glances over her shoulder, her icy blue eyes glittering.

"G-Girl On Fire, madam," Is all Pence can manage. It's enough, though- The citizens of the Capitol screech and whistle their approval, and President Snow nods as if she knew it all along.

"Yes, yes. But the past is the past, is it not? Katniss Everdeen is long dead and gone. The box, please, Pence."

Her assistant goes pale, then red, then green as she fumbles for the small box- One that I hadn't noticed until she steps up directly beside the President. She holds the box high, as if it's some kind of sacrifice. President Snow gives a thin, curled smile as she opens it, hooking her finger under the latch and nudging it upward. The box pops open, and the crowd goes 'Oooooh!' As if it were a hidden treasure.

Our president tips her fingers into the box and nips the creamy envelope between her nails, her gaze dark with greed. The crowd is suddenly silence, as if the entire theatre is holding its breath; She glides her fingers along the edge of the paper like a knife, and it pops open, flakes of glue twirling towards the cold, gray stage.

Her voice is low, challenging even. "The Founders of our present Capitol have decreed..The Quarter Quell of the ninety-ninth Hunger Games will be.."

I don't even hear the rest, the screaming is so loud. The camera swivels to one side just in time to catch two, no _three_ women collapsing to the ground, arms flung over their faces as if the news is too much.

"Dramatic, aren't they? Capitolites always are." A voice behind me mutters.

I whirl around, my arms unfolding and swinging outward like a bat. A hand grips my wrist and flips me to one side as easily as one would toss a piece of paper; I slam against the wall with a _thud,_ the breath knocked out of my lungs. I'm suddenly gasping for air, my eyes rolling and arms flailing and chest heaving.

"There'll be plenty of that in the arena. No need to waste your five-star moves on me." My blurry vision aligns, and I spy Kyle- Standing in front of me, arms crossed, an amused glint in his brown eyes. His lips are curled in a rare smirk.

"Yeah, well, you shouldn't sneak up on tributes!" I splutter, rubbing my shoulder with one hand and casting him a deep glare. He only stares back at me, and his gaze is so intense, swimming with depression and confusion and pity, that I look away first.

"My bad." His voice is monotone now. I take a step back, only to bump into the wall again. The hairs on my arms and neck stand straight up like a cat's, and it takes everything in my shriveled soul to keep myself from running away.

"You're fine," I murmur, turning my glare on the floor. There's a tense silence where he stares at me- Stares and stares and stares even as I refuse to look up.

Finally, he lets out a breath, and I can hear fabric shifting as he turns away from me. "We should get going. We're probably there by now."

I nod, curtly, once- Waiting for him to leave. My hands are curled into fists behind my back, my shoulders are tense with worry, and my legs are spread ever so slightly, like I'm ready to run at a moment's notice. Minutes pass, maybe hours, and when I look up, he's gone.

 **Hello! Quite frankly, I am one proud author! Three chapters in three days! Or is it four? Anyway, that's the most I've ever written in that amount of time!**

 **Remember guys, feel free to submit characters or ideas, and I'll post them on my profile. Souls, out!**


	4. Chapter 4: Cheering Or Jeering?

**Hey, guys. So, I haven't been getting any submits for characters...I'll leave them up for one or two more days, then I guess I'll just have to make up my own characters. Also, please review! I need the criticism!**

We all gather in one car- Wylie, Karter, Kyle, Dimond, Jonah, Erika, Jangerine and I. The two former tributes have stormy looks on their faces- Lips pressed into a thin line and gazes containing barely suppressed rage. A similar feeling curdles my gut- I don't want to be here, and I don't want to be with these people. Not even Kyle. I'd rather be at home, tanning, mixing paints, milking the goats. That's what District 10 was for.

I was not born to be a tribute.

All these thoughts clamor in my head as we step out of the train- Onto the cold, marble floor of the Capitol. Just as quickly, though, my anger shatters, replaced by so much sound and excitement and pure _energy_ that I stagger back, blinking once, twice, three times. I feel nauseous; My head spins and my ears feel ready to explode. The feeling only gets worse when I realize what the noise is- _Cheering. For me._

Wylie has shielded her face with one hand and she's scowling, pushing her way through the crowd. Dimond grins, waving and batting her eyelashes. Karter and Kyle both shuffle along, flashing the occasional grin, then hunching their shoulders as if to block out the noise. _Cheering for us,_ I think.

 _Cheering for our deaths._

 _They want us to die._

 _They want it to be painful- to be bloody. They're not cheering for us, not really._

 _They're cheering for the tributes._

All these thoughts race through my head, one after another, and my legs wobble. I have to keep going, though- So I raise one hand and wave, plastering a smile on my face. I've never been good at that certain expression, not really, but the crowd goes wild.

"Backs straight, girls! Chins up! Smiles on!" Our escort trills out in front of us, her green-striped hair bobbing upon her head like some silly hat. "These are CAPITOLITES! Oh, the fame!" She smiles, twirls, and keeps walking.

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes, if only because I'm on camera. Wylie can't stop herself- She flaps one hand, huffing. "Yeah, and they're here for _us,"_ She mutters.

I don't know what she means by that, but I don't ask, either.

It's over quickly- Not the part with the jostling bodies and bright, flashing colors and hoarse screams, but the walk itself; The smothered _thump_ my leather boots create on the pavement. We step inside the train- I'm last- and I've barely pulled my foot through the doors before they close.

The train glides forward, not harshly, but quickly enough that I stagger forward and have to catch Kyle for balance. I've grabbed his shoulder in a claw-like grip, and his hand whips around; Before I know it, I'm against the wall, and he has a fist at my throat.

The car is silent.

"Kyle, dear," Jangerine murmurs. "Unhand the poor girl, will you?"

His gaze is stuck on mine- chocolate brown, but not at all warm. Filled with hatred, sorrow, confusion. He hesitates, licking his lips, and steps back.

I can't stop staring, though. I must look like a lost sheep- My eyes wide, lips open in a small o. I lift one hand, slowly, and place it at my throat, fingering the soar spot. My voice comes out as a squeak- Embarrassingly hoarse and quiet. "It's...It's fine."

Kyle stares at me for a moment longer, his Adam's apple bobbing as if he can't decide what to say. Finally he shakes his head and shoves his way between Jangerine and Wylie- Out of the car.

"The bedrooms are down the hall to the left, dear! Yours is the one with the red!" Jangerine cries after him. I doubt he hears, or cares.

Our escort pats down strands of loose emerald hair. "Well, dears. It's been a long day. You should all be off to your rooms; I'll call you in soon for dinner. And then.." She glances over her shoulder, and I realize that our two tributes are still here. They've been so silent I'd forgotten they were with us.

"We'll watch the recap," Jonah finishes. Jangerine nods, blinks, and smooths down her skirt. "I'll be in my room," She sings, and then she's off, her heels click-clacking against the floor of the train.

Wylie hesitates, then slings an arm around Karter's shoulder, which somehow surprises me. "Let's go, then, shall we?" She trills, and her accent is so ridiculous that I let out a snort. I slap a hand over my mouth, but by then she's grinning, and I can't help but pull my walls down for a moment. They join in my laughter- Three tributes, headed to their deaths, and all we can think about is the tone of a Capitolite. We get ourselves under control- eventually- and part ways.

"See you at dinner," She cheers, giving me a little wave. Her blue eyes flash, and then the door closes.

"Bye, Vale," Karter mumbles, and slips into his own room. I catch a glimpse of black walls before he, too, slams the door.

The first thing I notice is how absolutely, ridiculously, incredulously _expensive_ everything looks.

The walls are smooth, painted a warm brown that matches the exact color of my boots; The sheets are wool, fluffy and creamy white upon the bed- Cherry wood, carved with so many elaborate shapes and letters that I have to switch my gaze to something else.

The carpet is woven of the same material as the sheets, soft and curly and rich in color- On one wall sits a mirror, all polished glass and silver. Pictures dominate the room- Pictures of tributes, young and old, of arenas, trees, deserts, mountains. It takes me a moment to realize it-

 _This was someone else's room._

The thought transforms into something ugly, something dark, something so _wrong_ that I rush to the bathroom- and this time, I don't have time to appreciate the shining tiles, the flashing mirrors.

 _This was a tribute's room._

 _A tribute that died._

 _They lived in this room, and somehow, somewhere, they died._

I don't know I'm crying until I really get a glimpse of myself; My short hair wild and matted with sweat, my face streaked with dirt and smoke and tears. I haven't changed in hours, and I'm in my same old work clothes; A long-sleeved, hastily stitched brown shirt and a stained overall over ripped baggy pants.

The tears rush down my cheeks and gather at my chin. The thoughts roll over and over in my head, and my stomach joins in, goading me towards the smooth glass toilet.

I clench my shirt with one hand and retch with the other, not that it helps. My stomach is empty, and I'm left with nothing but a dry burning in my throat, and acid in my stomach. My lips feel cracked and dirty, and the inside of my mouth tastes sour. I feel hot, sticky, and horribly filthy.

I force down the bile and shove myself to my feet, trembling. _You can't run to the bathroom every time something hits you, Vale. You're stronger than that._

 _District 10 is stronger than that._

My chest heaves, but I force back the sobs, rubbing my eyes with one hand until they feel hot and irritated. _Step one, take a shower._

My legs wobble as I start towards the glass stall- all silver buttons and gilded patterns and glowing lights. I feel silly, being scared to take a shower, but they're rare in District 10; However true it is that we're in one of the better-off regions of Panem, we usually have tubs. We can heat water on the stove, but that usually takes too long; Most of us prefer a clean, cold bath. Soap is for special occasions, at least for my family.

I pause in front of the control panel- A thin plate of silver set with different sized buttons and switches and whatnot. I realize I have no idea how to work this- I don't even know how to turn the water on. There's no handle.

 _Why would you look at this, ladies and gentlemen! Vale Flemming, fourth tribute from District 10 of the fourth Quarter Quell, and the poor girl can't work a shower! Good luck in the arena!_ The voice of Caesar Flickerman echoes in my head.

I grit my teeth, fighting down the rising panic in my chest- the frantic beating of my heart, the sweat rolling down my cheeks, making me ever more uncomfortable. I know how to work a shower, just not this one.

Okay, I don't know how to work a shower. But it can't be that hard- Push a few buttons, flip a few switches, and I'll find the cold water eventually.

So that's exactly what I do.

At first, I get nothing- and then the lights flash, and my heart sinks, because I know I've done something wrong.

The glowing lights seated above the shower turn pink and began to rotate, blinding me. I stagger back, but there's nothing but a pretty wall behind me- I slide down onto my butt, my head throbbing. Hot water floods the stall, scalding my arms, my legs, my head- I cry out and throw my selves sideways, but there's a wall there, too.

Pink clouds gather around me, like mist; Curling around my ankles and head. It smells sickly sweet, like blossoms, and I want to throw up all over again, but there's nowhere to go.

I wrap my arms around my knees and wait for it to end. I sit there for maybe a minute before the perfume trickles out to a few stray tendrils of blossom-scented mist, the hot water trickles to a stop, and the lights flicker and go dark.

My breath is ragged. Steam surrounds me, and this time it's not perfume; It's pure heat, making me feel sticky and choked all over again. _This_ is why I take cold showers.

My fingers grope for the door and when I find it, I clutch it desperately, hauling myself to my feet. I almost immediately fall again- My legs wobble and ache from knocking against the wall of the shower. I stumble over the lip of the stall and stand there in the cold air, shivering, feeling lost and stupid and generally miserable.

I peel my eyes open after a count of ten. The steam from the shower has spread about the entire room, so my vision is white; But I can faintly see the towel in one corner.

It takes me a while to dry off, mostly because I keep dropping the wooly fabric in my shriveled, heated fingers and staggering this way and that, into walls and toilets and sinks. When the deed is done, I scoot myself out the door and slam it shut so the steam won't spread to my own bedroom.

 _Clothes._ I realize I have no idea what to wear- I didn't think to bring anything but the cloth on my back.

I shouldn't have worried.

It seems every drawer I open- Every counter I dare explore- are packed with clothes. Dresses, shirts, pants, jackets, skirts, socks, undergarments; Everything I've ever imagined and never worn. My head spins with all the choices laid out in front of me; All the decoration that I'd never been able to enjoy.

I can't tell if all this is to mock me- To remind me of the things I'll never have again, and have never had- Or to comfort me for the trials to come. To me, it definitely isn't the latter.

I eventually make up my mind. An ironed denim overcoat that swirls down to my knees, a light grey top, and baggy grey pants. I keep my boots- They're the best, and the only ones, that I own.

My hair is another matter. The best I can do is comb it through with my fingers- All the brushes snag and twist and one even breaks all together. When that's done, I try the sprays out of pure curiosity. They make me smell like oranges- Why those, I don't know- But I find it somehow interesting.

I face the door, not painted black but carved of pure ebony. There's a name etched into the wood- Penny- and my stomach heaves all over again.

 _Control yourself. They're dead, long gone. They're probably not even the last person to have lived in this room._

The thought calms my jangled nerves, if only a little. I suck in a breath through my teeth and swing the door open. I have a dinner to get to.

 **Well hello there! Sorry this chapter took so long, but I've gotten an idea. I think maybe I'll write stacks of chapters, three or four, and then let them all out on one day. Or should I just update one at a time frequently? Please review or PM me of what you think! Also, I'll be taking down the character list (The one on my profile) tomorrow, unless any new entries show up!**

 **Peace!**


	5. Chapter 5: Remember Via Recap

**Wassup, peoples! I just got braces! WHOO! (Not. They're so uncomfortable!) Anyway, please share this story with your friends, circulate it around fanfiction- Please- and don't forget to review or PM me for characters, or even just for criticism! Please enjoy!**

I slide into the room- More like shuffle, with my boots- Not too sure I'm in the right place but increasingly certain as the chatting and chiming of spoons and forks echoes louder in my ears. I wince- That must mean I'm late.

The scene before me confirms it.

Five people sit at the table; Erika and Jonah, my designer, Jangerine, and the three other tributes for this year's Games. They all stop their conversations when I arrive, freezing- The only person that keeps eating is Karter, who is mashing food into his jaw as fast as he can without choking. It takes him at least five moments to look up and realize everyone else has stopped dinner.

Jangerine clears her throat, batting her eyelashes, which are now a violent shade of green. "Vale, dear, won't you join us?" She gestures to the seat besides Kyle, and I suppress a frown. The last thing I want to do is sit next to _him._

Our escort knows, but doesn't care. Her eyes flash with warning- _Do it, sweetheart. We don't have time to waste._ The look leaves a sour taste in my mouth, either because of the message itself or maybe I just didn't think she could be so serious. Either way, I know I don't have a choice.

I tug on the chair, but a leg is easily caught on the woolen strands of the carpet below us- There's an awkward moment while I try to pull it free and everyone stares at me expectantly, expressions fading from nonchalance to confusion to annoyance. When I finally yank the chair outward, my fork spills onto the floor.

My cheeks burn, and I can only hope no one can see it; Though that's unlikely with the glass chandelier above us. I snatch up the fork and push myself into my chair, feeling as clumsy and stiff as stone.

Jangerine hums something inaudible under her breath. "Well then. Let's continue our feast, shall we?" She flips a lock from her face and returns to her food.

I'm all too aware of Kyle next to me, glancing at me none-too-subtly at me out of the corner of his coffee-brown eyes. I focus on my plate, but its empty, and I realize it's a self-serve meal.

I glance up from the creamy lace of the table. There's a variety of food, but its not too overwhelming; Being the District of livestock, I had tasted many meats. I choose what I want; Nothing too sour, or salty, or sweet, or spicy, but strips of pork and beef lathered with sauce that gives it just the right amount of taste. I eat hungrily, but with manners- I know how to use a napkin, and a fork and spoon and knife, at least to some extent.

Kyle's chosen rice cakes and some plump blob of mystery meat dribbled in red sauce. He eats as ravenously as I do, but he's sure to wipe his mouth with his napkin, not his hand, and chooses to stab his meal with his fork instead of using his fingers and lips.

Wylie is barely eating. She has nothing on her plate but a few vegetables and potatoes, and I realize she must be a vegetarian. She eats slowly, one elbow propped on the table and the other ladling a small, ivory bowl of soup.

Karter is a disaster. He eats with his fingers- Scooping up mashed potatoes with his index finger, soaking it in the sauce of his meat, and sucking on his stained nails. He slurps and grunts and licks his lips so much that I quickly lower my gaze to my own food again, grimacing.

When the chiming of silver on ceramics and the loud sucking of a certain tribute have continued for a good fifteen minutes Jangerine's head snaps up.

"Karter! Manners! Have you _never_ eaten a fine meal before? Eat with your utensils, not your fingers! Lips are for tasting, not licking and slurping and sucking! Wipe your mouth with your napkin, not your sleeve- those fabrics are _horrendously_ expensive- and sit up straight in your seat! Wylie, elbows off the table! You should know better! Jonah, don't spill so much sauce on your shirt! Kyle, has your mother never told you staring is quite _rude?_ Erika, put a smile on your face, not a scowl! Vale.." She glances over at me, lips pursed, as if she's trying to think up something to be angry about. "You need to drink something with your food," She mutters finally.

Anger curdles my gut. My lips pop open for a retort, but Jonah beats me to it.

"Jangerine, think before you speak, will you? No, Karter has never eaten a _fine meal._ He's in District ten, not two. There is no such _sauce_ on my shirt, and I'd wipe it off if there was, and Kyle wasn't staring- He was observing, as one should do in the Games. Erika doesn't smile, you should know that by now. And Vale needn't a drink with her meal if she doesn't want one." He crosses his arms, one brow arched and his lips pulled into a little pout.

Our escort blinks, once, hard. She huffs, grumbles something, and pushed her seat back- Somehow, it doesn't snag on the carpet like mine did. "Let's go watch the recap then, shall we?" She quips, pops to her feet, and sashays out the door.

Jonah stands, too, brushing crumbs off his pants and following. Erika has a little smirk on her face as she shoves her plate to one side and stomps after him.

Us four tributes stare at each other- Me at Karter, Wylie at Kyle, Kyle at me and Karter at Wylie. She gets up first, lifting her soup and steadying it on her plate before getting up.

"I'm gone," She drawls, and disappears after the rest.

Kyle scuttles out of his chair after her.

I can _feel_ Kyle staring at me for a count of ten, and then he pushes out his chair. "Let's go," He mutters, and stalks past me.

I can barely stop myself from rolling my eyes as I follow.

The sitting room is just as elaborate as the rest of the train; The walls are creamy white, painted gold and silver in looping, flowery patterns that contrast greatly with the crystal chandelier and the bright lights. Jangerine sits in a single chair on one side of the room that manages to look royal and comfortable at the same time.

Erika and Jonah are squished together in a relatively small white sofa on the opposite side of the room. Directly in front of the screen sits a large sofa on which Kyle, Wylie and Karter sit, Wylie ruffling Karter's hair as he gnaws on his thumbnail and Kyle looking stoic as usual.

I scoot myself between Karter and Kyle and lean back, crossing my arms. The fabric beneath and behind me is soft and plush, like velvet, despite its sharp looks, and I find myself relaxing as the speakers switch on and the show begins.

The large screen flashes to life, glowing blue before fading into the background of the stages of the Capitol. This time, instead of the President, its Chase Flickerman- Caesar Flickerman's son, with the same crinkly eyes and wide, pearly white smile. His hair if fluffy, dyed a soft purple, nearly the same shade as his skin. His blue-brown eyes sparkle playfully; And it's that same voice- The same voice as his father's- that booms from the speakers.

Chase is maybe thirty- Younger than his father was when he started his announcements, but just as jolly. I don't know much about him except for his heritage and his profession. He's kind, and definitely funny- Maybe even more so than Caesar. The thought draws me to the upcoming interview, and I know I'm not excited for it by the clenching of my gut.

I realize I've missed the entire introduction. There's another person up on stage, now- Julia Templesmith, daughter of Claudius Templesmith and all-time assistant of Chase. She flashes a dazzling smile and sweeps a few dozen strands of orange hair behind one tattooed ear as she speaks: "-Interesting Quarter Quell this year indeed!" She punctuates this with a laugh that makes my already knotted stomach sink further.

"Oh, yes. Double the tributes, can you believe it? It seems the Capitol really is fond of this trend, isn't it- The whole four-tributes-per-district fiasco! And handpicked by the former tributes themselves! It's brilliant!" Chase flashes another dazzling smile, his black-lined eyes squinty with delight.

"Now, now, Capitolites, tributes, districts of Panem! That's not all! For this year's Games, absolutely no expense- And I do mean no expense- has been spared! For _this_ Games, our arena will definitely be...Different!" His assistant says it all without taking a breath- and when she does, she releases it in a crazed snort-giggle, clutching her stomach with one ink-stained hand. "How wonderful!"

"Different, Julia? How different?" Chase teases, throwing a glance her way. She only giggles, covering her mouth with one hand. "Now, I can't give that away! It'll ruin the Games!"

Chase wiggles his eyebrows, and the crowd roars with laughter. "Wouldn't want to do that, now would we, citizens of Panem?!"

When the laughing fit is over Julia straightens, but there's still a little devious smile on her face. "I think it's about time we showed this _outstanding_ audience the Reapings, am I right? OR AM I RIGHT?"

The audience screams their approval, and Julia nods, waving her polished nails and drinking it all in. She jerks her head towards Chase, and he sweeps one hand outward. "Then the Reapings we shall see!"

The wall behind them glows and transforms into a sort of holographic image- And, as it is every year, the symbol of District 1 shimmers onto the screen.

The screams grow to whispers and chatters of excitement as the film begins. I'm not watching too closely, because I know what will happen- Four tributes, all volunteers, bellow their names and stalk up to the stage, with lean figures and sharp wide smiles.

I nearly throw up right then and there- No, not because of the grotesque smirks or the swinging shoulders. It's the _face._ I _know_ that face.

Sure enough, the escort shouts their name, and my blood runs cold. "Zane Hillocks! Pence Maney!"

 _Hillocks. Maney._

I don't have time to run to the bathroom. The video moves on, and District Two appears- and once again, every single tribute is a volunteer. Frankly, they all look a lot meaner and leaner, with bulging muscles and lifted chins, then any kid from District Ten could ever dream of being.

My mind snaps back to focus as the third tribute for District Three scuttles onto the screen, giving a jittery smile. He has a crazy look in his eyes, like he's had too much sugar. The fourth tribute, also male, looks a lot calmer, but his gaze is more calculating then maniacal.

District Four is nothing new; Tan figures and blonde hair. They all have swinging gaits and loud smirks that I try my best to burn from my mind.

I let myself wander through the rest of the Districts until 7- And it's only one tribute that catches my eyes. She has bronze hair and skin and startling green eyes, and her lips are set not in a smirk, but a thin line of determination. She's lean, and fit; Almost as muscled as a normal lumberjack, but not quite. Her eyes are hard and unforgiving, but so dazzling that the crowd lets out a collective sigh as she comes on stage.

 _\- Layes,_ booms the voice of her escort. Pride shines in their rolled back shoulders and flashing gaze. I struggle around the lump in my throat, my nostrils flaring. She'll be tough competition, if not because of her strength than her amount of sponsors. I doubt I have more than one.

I don't pay attention until District 10. The speakers clearly capture the screams of Kyle's sister as she's dragged away- but Kyle himself looks decent, his jaw set and brown eyes hard as he stalks onto stage. He pivots and stands still, crossing his arms behind his back.

Next is Wylie. In the video, her voice rises in a scream- _I volunteer as tribute!_ As she shoves her way past everyone, including me, and makes her way onto the stage. Her eyes are a little red, but she looks strong, if not loyal. The audience murmurs among themselves sympathetically.

Karter is nothing special. He shuffles to the stage and bows his head, and that's it for him.

Then there's me.

I watch, replaying the scene in my mind as it unfolds on the screen; Jonah, pointing to me, and the stoic silence of the stadium before I'm pitched forward from a girl behind me. I see now it's Hadley- A girl with straight, dark brown hair and deep green eyes that's never been too nice to me before.

I stagger forward, and I swear the room is silent enough to hear my ragged breathing- That eventually straightens out- As I make my way onto the stage. My expression is calm, which surprises me; I'd thought I'd be crying, or grimacing, or yelling. I take my place besides Karter, my eyes glittering with tears or determination, the crowd can't seem to tell; And then the screen cuts off. I realize how smart the Capitol is; They've cut off the rebellion of District 10.

Wylie nudges me with her shoulder, bringing me back to life. I glance over and see a dry smile on her face, and I know I've done decent, if not good.

I block out District 11 until the fourth tribute; A boy maybe seventeen, with dark hair and eyes so brown they're almost black. He looks like a grim reaper as he glides onto the stage, his expression stoic; And I envy his nonchalance, his obvious strength. I know I'd never be able to look so calm.

I miss his name, but that's alright. District 12 is nothing like the seventy-fourth Hunger Games; Two scrawny kids with dark eyes and hair and sticks for bones. After the escort bellows their names, the screen fades away.

The entire room, including the television, is silent for a moment as the two hosts pause- Maybe for suspense. Chase speaks first.

"Well then, ladies and gents. Wasn't that interesting?"

"It was interesting all right, Chase. Real interesting," Julia chimes.

"Some interesting tributes we've got," He strikes back.

"More interesting than last year," She purrs, arching one brow and grinning.

"And why was it interesting, Julia? Tell me- Tell Panem- _Why_ so interesting?"

"We have a family relation, Flickerman, don't we? A bloody one, at that! Very bloody!" She shrieks her laughter.

She pivots on one toe and sweeps her hand upward in a grand gesture. Two images shimmer to life- One of me, and one of a boy, maybe a year or so older than me, with the same amber eyes and tousled dark hair and skin. He even has a mashed gray cap like mine.

Chase's lips spread in a blindingly white grin. "I see what you're onto, Julia! I see what you're on to! Oh, would you look at the simiLARITY!"

"And why do you think they look so similar, Chase? Guess!" Julia teases, batting her lashes. Chase throws back his head and laughs. "Let me guess, Julia. Let me guess.."

"Cousins!"

"Nope!" She shrieks.

"Father-daughter!" Chase tries. Julia laughs. "Not even close, Flickerman!"

"Clones!" At that one, she slaps one knee, her nose scrunched up in a comical grin. "Come on, Chase! You can do better!"

"Okay, okay, I'll bite. SIBLINGS!"

Lights flash and music blares in the speakers momentarily before fading into the background. "That's EXACTLY it, Flickerman! Siblings! Vale Flemming and Graede Flemming!"

"Ah, Graede. I remember him," Chase nods seriously. "Who was he again?"

Julia rolls her eyes playfully. "Silly goat! He was in the ninetieth Hunger Games! Didn't make it to the top, sadly. But they're practically twins! Look at that hair! Those eyes! Their caps are the same, for Panem's sake!"

I can't breath. I sit there, stone still, my lip quivering like a little girl's. They're making a game of it- Making a game of _him._ A game of his death.

I can feel every person in the room staring at me- Karter, Dimond, Jangerine, and everyone else. Especially Kyle; His is the most intense, like he's trying to drill a hole in the side of my head. It takes every ounce of my willpower to not look at any of them, and I'm shivering.

The roaring voices of the two hosts fade into the back of my mind. Tears blur my vision, and I'm still shaking so much that Karter scoots to one side. I hug my arms, gulping down my tears.

I've just missed the two pictures of the second pair of twins- Marvel and Zane Hillocks, and Gem and Pence Maney. I don't need to look, though; I can imagine their exact expressions, down to the spots on their skin and the dimple the Hillocks each get in one corner of their mouth every time they think they're having fun.

I'm stone still, now, and I'm glad I haven't cried because I know if I started there I'd never stop. The rest of the show rolls by and before I know it the screen is blank, gone dark. I realize that Erika, Jonah, Dimond, and Jangerine have already left.

Wylie stares at me, sympathy swimming in her blue eyes- and I can't take it. I stand abruptly, nearly shoving Karter off the couch; And it's so hard to keep my voice from quavering that I have to clench my fists, digging my nails into my palms until I feel they will bleed.

"I'm going to bed," I croak, and rush out the door, one hand cupped over my lips to reduce the sobs rising in my throat.

 **Hi guys! Wow, the Capitol is so mean! Making a joke out of poor Vale's brother! Please review and PM me for any criticism or ideas, and have a nice weekend!**

 **Peace!**


	6. Chapter 6: Living Nightmare

**Sup! I'm on a roll with these chapters, aren't I? My goal is nine chapters by...The week after next's Sunday! That's four chapters for two weeks! Sort of slow, but...I'M A SLOW PERSON! Remember to review or PM me for any ideas, characters, or criticism at all, or even if you just want to say hi! Please enjoy!**

I slam my door shut so hard it shakes on the frames- But I'm barely paying attention as I throw myself onto the bed, under the wool covers, and sob. I can't stop it- Once I take my hand away, my chest heaves and it all pours out, down my cheeks and out my throat from the very depths of my soul. I hadn't even known I was carrying around so much bitterness- So much sorrow- until I let it all out in those tears.

I'd never known the Capitol to be so cruel, so unimaginably heartless. Not only did they take my brother, my twin, my _other half-_ They made a game of his death, and now they'll make a game of mine, too.

 _I won't win._

I have nothing to fight for. Yes, I had a job, even a home back in my District; but is that really worth my life? I had an aunt, yes, and she was kind- But terribly ill, and unable to support herself, let alone me. That's why this tesserae started in the first place.

I have to backtrack. _She has no money. No family. No food. Who will take care of her?_

 _The District will,_ I answer myself. But I'm not convincing, not even to the other half of my own brain.

 _Will they, Vale? Will they really?_

I fight down another sob. I don't know what to do, where to go; I feel trapped, both inside and out. I need to _do_ something- To _go_ somewhere. I rolled off my bed, taking the sheets with me, only to land on my back.

I stifle a groan, untangling myself from the wool and staggering to my feet. My eyes are red and puffy, my hair ruffled; But I don't care about that. I place one hand on the cold, slick handle of my window and yank it open.

Freezing air rushes in, billowing around the room like a ghost. My hair is lifted from my face, my tears dried; I instantly feel better. I lean against the windowsill, narrowing my eyes and listening to the soft _whoosh_ of the train across the electric tracks of the Capitol. The ugly knots in my chest loosen.

I'd never seen the Capitol, let alone at night, but I have to admit it's beautiful. Buildings tall and short, metal and wood, twisted and smooth clawed their way towards the sky, all fighting for dominance; Buildings with glowing lights or flashing windows or even letters that seem to be living things, wrapping around the building like snakes. The comparison isn't scary- It's comforting, in fact. Not that I know why.

I let my eyes drift close. I'm tired- Tired of crying, of thinking, of being poised and quiet and invisible like Vale Flemming the tribute is supposed to be. I want to be Vale Flemming the tanner- Vale Flemming the painter- Vale Flemming, her own person, her own mind.

I slip into a dream.

* * *

At least I know where I am.

In District 10, there's plenty work to do; Tending to the animals, skinning them, and then selling them for meat and clothes. But we _do_ have time to watch the Games. All Districts do, because however important the economy of Panem may be, this one event is just worth more.

In the dream, I'm seven; All sharp angles and scrawny bones. None of that matters as I focus my eyes on the screen- On the Games. The footage is of my brother. Just as the screen flickers to life, though, my vision seems to narrow, to expand, meshing the colors all together until I'm _in_ the arena; And I realize I'm seeing through the eyes of Graede.

* * *

"We _can't_ just _go,"_ A voice besides me hisses. I swing my body to the right and see a girl, my age, with strawberry-blonde hair, freckles, and brown eyes. "They'll kill us!"

"Not like we have a choice. We all know that we can't survive on this forever," Another person growls besides me. The voice belongs to a girl a year older than me, with straight blonde hair and sharp blue eyes. She's stabbed one finger toward our entire food supply- a single triangle of cheese, a golden apple and two grapes, and a slab of mystery meat that has already begun to rot. She wrinkles her nose, her gaze darting between the girl and the meat as if to prove her point.

The one with the strawberry-blonde hair stomps her foot as if she's about to blow fire. "We can! All we have to do is make snares. We'll make it-"

"Don't lie to me, Caella! We need this food, and they have it! We'll be in and out in seconds. Only two of us need to go in the first place," The blonde girl has shoved her face right in her comrade's, and her teeth are bared, her mouth set in a scowl of disgust.

Caella's eyes flare with anger. "We won't make it. They'll catch us."

The girl's lips curl into a mischievous smirk, like she knows something no one else does. "Who said anything about we? I said two, remember? Since _you_ don't want to go, Graede's coming with me." She jerks a thumb towards me- I've been standing off to one side, frowning, my gaze switching between the two. As soon as her blue eyes fall on me I feel heat rise to my cheeks and I mutter, "Y-Yeah. I'll come."

In the back of my mind, I think, _What am I doing?_ But I have no answer. The dream continues as the girl twirls on her heel and marches into the trees- She's enveloped so quickly that I have no choice to follow. As I whip past Caella, I send her an apologetic look, but she only scowls, her eyes red, and turns away. A healthy blend of guilt and dread churns in my stomach as I catch up to the blonde.

"So...What's the plan?" She glances over her shoulder, her blue eyes sparkling. "We don't do plans, remember? We're District 10. We charge, take the food, and get out. You're good with that sword, aren't you? They won't stand a chance." She flashes me a grin, then turns her head back over her shoulder.

That doesn't ease my nerves, not in the least- But I feel compelled to follow her anyway, almost as if my life is tied to hers. I shadow her, ducking under branches and shifting over the squishy moss of the forest; Where she leaps, I do, and soon we fall into a pattern.

Time is difficult in the arena, so it could be ten minutes or three hours when we emerge. There's a clearing in front of us- A single grassy hill, and at the top, of course, is the Cornucopia. It glows gold in the light, reflecting the forest around it; And I can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, we'll be seen.

Apparently the girl in front of me has no such thoughts. She sends me one last glance before darting forward, into the light of the sun; One, two, then three heads turn, and a shout pierces the air. She doesn't stop, though; Whipping her sickle out, disarming the first guard, and ducking under the next. It's not until the clearing is flooded that I realize I'm frozen at the edge of the trees.

I sprint forward, lowering my head, nostrils flaring. I've always been fast, but uphill is a different matter. By the time I'm at the top my movements are more sluggish then before and my chest heaves. There's no time to rest when the first attacker comes at me.

I lean backward and throw myself to one side, dodging his first strike. His knife slices through the air with a clean _shing a_ s he turns to face me, knees bent and eyes alight with anger- and I feel that familiar sense of dread again. This is a seasoned warrior, a balanced Career; What chance do I have?

He lunges, and I dart to one side- But this time he's ready. His knife just barely skims my shoulder, but I cry out, staggering; And he takes the oppurtunity to ram me to the ground.

The next few moments is a blur of gold and silver; The light of the sun glancing off the blade of my sword and his knife as we scuffle. I shove him away with one hand and kick wildly, catching his chin; He cries out and scrambles back, raising one hand to cradle the wound.

I lurch off of my rear and stab down. He's too surprised to defend himself as my sword plunges itself into his chest.

There's that sick moment where time slows down and all I can pay attention to is the fading light in his eyes. His head drops, slowly, hitting the ground with a dull _thud-_ his knife drops next, landing soundlessly in the blades of grass that's now stained brown with his blood.

I wrap my fingers around the cold handle of the sword, and it pulls free with a wet sucking sound that makes my stomach heave and my eyes burn. The leather hilt is slippery with blood and I nearly drop it twice as I get to my feet, shaking my head to clear the metallic scent of blood from my nostrils. For some reason, it doesn't fade.

That's when I hear the scream.

I whip around, sword at the ready, but I'm so far away I can barely see what's happening until the scream comes again- And then I see the girl, her stomach pressed to the earth and her face smudged with dirt and blood; Who's, I don't know, nor do I want to. I start towards them.

"GRAEDE!"

I'm just breaking into a run, but I falter, stumbling. Something slams into me with the weight of the train, taking us both down- And this time I have no time to defend myself. I see a flash of gray and my sword skitters away; No sooner have I been disarmed then I feel the unmistakeable pressure of a knee on my sternum.

"Got em'," A voice sneers above me. Through blurred vision I can see a face- A girl, with stringy brown hair and cold blue eyes. Her chapped lips are curled into a smirk of defiance.

I hear an unnatural _crack_ off to my left and a scream. I can't look, though; But I'm not sure if it's because I'm incapable or because I just don't want to. Finally, though, when the screams fade to whimpers, I shift my head.

The girl lays on the ground, her face now streaked with tears. She's blabbering, saliva turning the blood on her chin pink. "P-Please...We just needed food. We just needed food." Her voice comes in hiccups, and it doesn't take long to figure out why; Her right arm is splayed across the arm at a horribly unnatural angle, bent just above the wrist. Blood leaks from the wound, forming a miniature puddle right at her side.

My own chest heaves with bile as I see her captor; A girl with hair that matches the color of the soil beneath her and greenish-brown eyes. Her lips are spread in a maniacal grin.

"This is what you get when you steal from Careers, sweetheart. An arena full of a lot more pain then what it was before," She croons, and it's not until I see a flash of metal that I realize she has a knife poised right at the side of the blonde's head.

"Quill.." I murmur. The tip of the blade breaks the first layer of skin, the one that usually peels; And a thin waterfall of blood begins its way down her face.

"What a beautiful color," The girl purred. "Scarlet, like the sky in the morning. Is that your name? Sky? I bet it is. I bet your name's Sky." She draws the knife further, until there's an inch-long gash from her temple to her nose.

I don't know if the girl realizes that Sky's not even close to her name, but I don't comment- I do nothing as I watch the blade travel slower and slower down the length of her skin, pausing just below her chin. The blood branches off, trickling down the blade and over her shirt.

My breath comes quicker. I know I have to do something, _anything,_ before this goes any further- But I'm trapped. The girl above me hasn't moved, but I can feel her eyes on my neck, just waiting for her comrade to finish mine off before she does her own dirty work.

"Quill," I squeak again. This time, her blue eyes roll over to mine, but her lips don't move. I think she's too shocked to respond properly.

The girl digs the edge of her knife into Quill's skin, where her adam's apple would be if she were a boy; New blood flows. A low chuckle exits her lips, and her eyes dance with crazy light.

"Let her go!" My voice is hoarse. I shuffle towards her, but I'm still on my back, and the girl above me isn't willing to let me escape just yet. She presses her elbow to my collarbone.

The blade digs in deeper..Deeper. I can see the light fading from Quill's eyes.

"QUILL! STOP IT! LET HER GO!" Panic rises in my chest, blossoming and sending my nerves on fire. I jerk beneath my captor, shaking my head. "QUILL! MOVE!"

I'm shouting now, shaking and bucking and twisting like a wild bull. The girl above me grunts, and I hear a thump as she lands somewhere off to my right; But I don't care about her. I roll onto my stomach and the world flips so quickly it's an effort not to vomit. Despite that, I begin to crawl forward on my hands and knees. Before I know it I'm on my feet, soil churning beneath my boots. "QUILL!" She's not that far- I know I'll make it. "QUILL!"

 _Whoosh._ An axe spins past my head. I don't stop. "HEY! LET HER GO! QUILL!"

Pure adrenaline launches me at the girl above my friend just as the final flow of blood erupts from her neck. A scream rises inside of me and bursts from my lips so loudly the girl is startled right off of her prisoner. I swing a fist at her nose.

She doesn't fight back as I pummel her- Blow after blow after blow, aimed at her eyes, her cheeks, her lips, her neck. I feel thick, cold wrap around my arms, dragging me back. I dig the heel of my boots against the soil and snap my head backward against whoever's holding me. They stagger back.

Another weight slams into me. I taste both dirt and blood and the sun is blocked out- I realize someone's pressed their dirty shoe to my face. I still struggle, flailing my arms and legs, my throat hoarse and my blood like lava.

"QUILL! QUILL!" My own voice fades in and out. I feel a burning, like rope, around my hands and feet, and realize I've been bound. That only makes my resolve stronger.

The same girl from before presses an elbow to my neck, grunting with the effort to keep me down. Quill's captor has a knife in her hand that glints red. "Real troublemaker you are," She murmurs. "Hold him down, will you? I can't get it right if he keeps thrashing."

"I'm _trying,_ I'm _trying,"_ A voice above me hisses. I feel the pressure on my neck increase until I'm forced to shut up.

The girl flexes her shoulders, working her jaw. "That's better," She huffs, inching over to me. There's no delay; Her knife plunges into my cheek and she wrenches it downwards, ripping the skin away like she's skinning a goat; Working her way down my chin, all the way to my throat. The pain is unbearable, like a million needles tipped in poison being sewed into my body. I jerk beneath her and all I can do is scream- Scream and scream, until the knife severs my vocal cords and then I can't even let loose the pain that I feel. I'd rather die.

My wish is granted as my vision goes black.

* * *

I jerk awake with a strangled yell, one hand clenching my throat so hard I think I'll choke myself. My breath comes in gasps, my eyes are wide; My body is trembling like a bell. I feel like I can't breath.

It takes a few seconds for me to realize I'm not in the dream anymore; I'm onboard the train, heading towards the Capitol. My ragged breathing slows to low pants and I peel my own fingers from my neck with a squeak. My lip trembles.

I've never had a dream so vivid- I've always known that Graede and I were as close as twins could be, but I'd never s _hared_ an experience with him. I collapse against my pillow, still shivering; Trying with all my might not to let the crying start because I know it'll be a while before they stop. My eyes burn anyway.

I blink back the flood of tears and take one shuddering breath after another, until my vision turns clear, the tingling sensation disappears from my throat, and the shivering stops. I struggle with a lump in my throat, work my way around it, and draw my knees to my chest.

After I've calmed myself down to the point I can stand, I do just that, uncrossing my arms from the windowsill and arching my back until it cracks. I shiver once and shake out the jitters in my arms, then straighten fully, kneading the wool carpet with my toes. The feeling comforts me, and my shoulders slump as I raise my head to stare out the window that I'd left open last night.

I lick my lips and reach on my toes to snap it shut. The last of the cold air whooshes out my side of the window, but that's alright. It's enough to fully clear my mind and ruffle my hair so it looks slightly less crazy. I roll myself back onto my heels and turn, taking a deep breath. From what I'd seen in the window, it was only four or five in the morning, but that was alright too. I usually woke up at five-thirty back at home.

 _Home._ I try not to feel a pang in my chest at the word. Instead, I shake my head and set off to get ready- I know I might as well, since there's no chance I'm falling asleep again anytime soon.

It doesn't take long to do what I need to do. I wash my face with water- Cold, of course- Relieve myself, brush my teeth as best as I can with the odd mint-scented paste, and take a bath. I refuse to use the shower this early in the morning if I can't work it properly, because I know that if another incident like yesterday's happens again it'll break me.

It's nice to take a simple bath again, to lay in the tub and swish my hand through the cool, clear water. I use soap- Why not?- But don't worry myself on perfumes and foamy bubbles and paper boats.

When that's done it's easy enough to pick out my clothes- A simple black, long-sleeved shirt and jeans, and of course, my boots. I don't bother to comb my hair but I do slap on my cap; And then I'm out the door.

And, oh Panem- I'd never known the Capitol could look quite so..

C _razy._

* * *

 **Hi, guys! So, another chapter! THREE chapters in two days! Am I proud or what?! I hope I didn't make any mistakes here. Now you guys know why this story is Rated T, right? All that violence...And poor Graede..**

 **And, yes, I know I've said this about a trillion times since I started this story, but please, PLEASE don't be afraid to review me for any ideas or criticism for this chapter, or any others! I accept your comments in every way!**

 **Peace OUT!**


	7. Chapter 7: Do It For The Dollars

**Hi, guys. So, as you may have noticed, I've taken down the character-list that was on my profile. People just weren't sending in characters, you know? But, that's okay. I think I have just enough juice in my brain to make my own! Please review and enjoy.**

Even through the intricately-etched glass of the train window- which makes the buildings even more distorted and mismatched- I have to admit the Capitol is beautiful, in a winding, rebel-ish way. Ironic, considering how much they hate the rule-breakers.

I don't linger too long, shifting my worn boots along the soft fabric of the carpet as I make my way towards the sitting room. No doubt Jonah or Karter are already up; For some reason, they're always the first awake out of all of us.

Of course, it's just as I predicted; Karter is slumped on the couch, biting one thumbnail, his brown gaze transfixed on the screen. Jonah is curled up in one of the comfy leather chairs, colored stark white; He holds a glass of orange liquid in one hand and a triangle of hard, speckled bread in the other. He's watching the television, too, but certainly not as intensely as the other tribute.

His head jerks up when he sees me, and I can see the muscles in his neck tighten. A vacant look enters his eyes, but its gone just as quickly- He swishes the glass in his hand, shakes his head, and tilts the cup back. I can see his adam's apple bobbing as the liquid moves down his throat.

"Morning," Is all he says. His voice is flat, maybe a little sad; I've never been good at reading people. I only give him a nod and start towards the table, where the general aroma of breakfast is coming from- buttered bread, hard or soft, eggs, salted or peppered, bacon, crispy and shining with grease; And three or four different types of juice- The type of standard meal people are _supposed_ to have in the morning, but never do. My stomach curls, both with hunger and disgust.

I'm not too picky with my food, because in District 10 I always had lots of choices. I scoop up two eggs, some bread, and a slab of cheese, which is the general meal in District 10. I've always liked stirring the cheese- Souring the milk and rennet into little blocks of curd. I might have taken the pepper, too, but I just don't do spicy.

I'm not in the mood to sit next to either tribute, so I place myself at the table instead, slicing the egg in half with my fork. My mouth waters when steam spills from the center, chunks of yellow mush spilling onto the plate- But I'm too hungry to be neat. I stuff one half of the egg in my mouth and take a small bite of the bread and cheese. The result is so delicious I nearly melt on the spot.

"I see someone's sticking to their District." I glance over my shoulder, egg crumbs scattered over my chin. Wylie has appeared in the hall, and she makes it towards me quickly enough- Moving with that swaggering, hip-waving, shoulder-rolling walk of hers, equal parts awkward and graceful.

"I like eggs," Is all I can say, which sounds so stupid in my ears I turn back around to finish my bread.

Wylie takes the same thing I do, but adds an apple, which somehow surprises me. Then I remember last night, when I'd realized she was a vegetarian.

She sees me looking and arches a brow. "Is it a crime to be healthy?" She hums, then snaps open the apple with a knife and takes a healthy bite. I wince and focus on my breakfast.

It's not long before the rest of the crew is up- As in Dimond, Erika, Kyle, and Jangerine. The latter flounces in, all stark-white makeup and flashing colors. I avert my eyes as quickly as possible.

Erika is glowering as usual, her reddish-brown hair a mess and her hazel eyes dark with anger. Kyle trails after her, a small frown on his face, his brow furrowed. Dimond is..Well, Dimond. She skips along, not overly happy but not too angry either, looking perfectly content. I push my plate away, wishing I could feel the same.

"Morning morning _mor-ning tributes!_ Isn't this an exciting day? Our first visit to the Capitol!" Jangerine twirls towards the table, plucks a grape from the woven basket, and pops it in her mouth, all the while spinning on her heel and singing under her breath.

I resist the urge to groan, instead letting my shoulders slump. Wylie sighs, cradling her chin in one hand. "The quiet was nice while it lasted," Is all she says. Dimond shoots her a dirty look.

"Chop chop! Vale, I _certainly_ hope that's not what you're _wearing._ I put far brighter outfits in your closet!" Jangerine pulls her orange lips into a little pout, but all I can do is cringe. I saw the outfits, all right- and there was no way I was going near them again.

"I'll change into something better," I mumble, and that's enough for her to squeal in delight. She turns to Wylie, and her expression sours.

"Hansen.." She trails off, scanning her up and down critically. Finally she gives a little bob of her head. "Your dress!"

Wylie glances down, her expression almost one of boredom. She's wearing a slim black dress and heels, with no jewelry or decoration except a woven reed bracelet on one wrist. Her jet-black hair is piled into a bun, and her pale skin is free of tattoos or stains.

"What?" She says, her voice flat. Jangerine blinks, and I swear I can see little flecks of glitter float from her lashes and drift to the ground ever so slowly. "Why..It's black. You can't go to the Capitol wearing _black,_ dear. It's simply too...Dark." She purses her lips, like that's not the word she was looking for.

"I like dark," Wylie drawls, running a finger along her fork. "It fits me." Then she turns around and spoons the fleshy shell of the egg into her mouth, as if the conversation is over.

Jangerine frowns, but whoever it's aimed at doesn't react. She gives a small, short sigh. "Well..Remember, pumpkins, we'll be there in ten minutes at most. Just orient yourselves before then. She hesitates, performs a perfect spin on one heel, and sashays out of the room. Wylie makes a face at her back, scrunching up her nose. I think she's more angry about the black dress- and the fact that our escort has just called us _pumpkins-_ then anything else.

I glance around as I scoot out of my chair and make my way to my room. Wylie is just getting up, sucking the butter off her fingers and stalking towards her own door. Karter is gone, probably off to get ready. Jonah is sitting in the exact same spot, though most of the orange-colored drink is almost gone now, and he has a faded green book in one hand. I sigh. It's time I get ready, too- Or at least educate myself on what's to come.

I check the time. Seven minutes till we got there, approximately. Seven minutes to read up on the Capitol. I can already feel the bags forming beneath my eyes. _It's going to be a long day._

Sometimes I wish District 10 was assigned a better escort.

It's not that Jangerine is cruel, or even the fact that the colors she wears constantly threaten to give me a migraine; It's just the fact that she's so _forgetful._

She click-clacks her way towards us, intruding on my privacy just as the Capitol comes into view _fully-_ A sprawl of buildings and people, tall or short, black or white, female or male, all waving and twirling and screaming so loud the muted sound reaches my ears even through the thick, elaborate sheet of glass before me.

All I can think as the scene blurs by is, _The Capitol reflects on its people._ The buildings here are just as twisted and bright as the people inhabiting them, jagged glass or curling plastic or even wood. My head spins with the pure beauty of it all, the pure synchronization. It's like the city was _meant_ for the people, and they know it.

She flutters her lashes, leaning over my shoulder and beaming. I'm practically shoved out of the way, but that's just fine; I move to the next pane of glass and plaster a smile on my face, tilting my hand in a sort of royal wave.

Kyle is standing in front of the screen, hands stuffed in his pockets and a brooding, dark look on his face that somehow makes the crowd go while. Girls wave at him overtime as we pass, jumping up and down and shouting his name in high-pitched voices that make the glass shake.

Wylie is having just as much luck. She's leaning forward on the sill, cradling her chin in one hand and giving the crowd a sly smirk. It makes her look beautiful, if not dangerous; The effect is doubled by the fact that, as always, she's wearing all black, including the makeup on her eyes and lips. Her icy-blue eyes sparkle with mischief.

Kyle has to boost himself up with his arms to be able to see. His eyes are wide and he's waving, too, but I don't know if the crowd likes him as much. They sure cheer and wave as his window blurs by, but whether its because they think he's cute or just because he's a tribute, I'll never know.

The train begins to glow slower, until I can individually pick out each person bobbing their heads and parting their lips for our names. Jangerine hustles over to the glass doors, her eyes bright with excitement.

"I'm afraid I forgot to tell you all, but your designers- Kyle and Karter will be sharing Maya because we're short on staff. Wylie, you'll have Baird, I think was his name; And Vale of course will be with Dimond. You'll also be sharing mentors, because..Well, District 10 isn't quite full on victors." She gives us a polite smile, then rattles off names: "Erika to Wylie and Vale, and Jonah to Karter and Kyle. Girls to girls, boys to boys." Wylie opens her mouth to ask a question, but snaps it close as the doors glide open.

I'm ushered out of the train and into the light, where everything is more confusing- The screaming and shoving of the crowds, the flashing white uniforms of the PeaceKeepers, their helmets sparkling in the sun; The buildings, tipped with points of light and sparkling like chrome, looming before me like vast giants of time.

The citizens are the worst part of it. I thought I would be prepared, seeing as we'd stopped before to switch trains; But it's like the opposite. I completely underestimated the pure will- The pure _excitement-_ of these crowds. Their excitement to see us.

They're waving and screaming, piercing my ears and making my brains rattle in my skull. More then one hand smacks into my shoulder or face as I pass, and I'm constantly staggering forward and back to avoid being knocked into. I can barely follow the progress of my fellow tributes, who weave through the crowd- No, more like it parts for them- and I've fallen so far behind that it closes back up again just as I take a step forward.

I'm lost in the swell of bright colors and hoarse yelling. A hand grips my wrist, and I yank it away, spinning around and nearly falling- But then there's another hand, and another. Two strong arms grip my shoulders, guiding me through the crowd.

My first thought is, _Kylnoe._ I try to glance behind me, but my vision is still a blur of color and light. I turn back around, feeling just slightly sick. The hands shove me forward and, miraculously, I knock into Karter- We both stagger forward, but don't fall.

I whip around to thank my savior, but all I can see is a flash of white, and then they're swallowed by the crowd.

"Vale!" Someone is screaming my name- sharply, indivisually- over the noise of the citizens. I turn, slowly, my limbs feeling like lead and my eyes bouncing around in my head like marbles.

"Smile and wave, pumpkin! What did I tell you?!" I realize the only person in Panem who would willingly call me pumpkin is Jangerine, so I start forward again, this time passing my hand back and forth in what I hope passes as a wave- It's too late, too crowded, to do anything else to gain their favor. I try to fix a smile on my face, too, but that's just as difficult.

The entire place reeks of- well- everything in it. Perfume, sweat, and soap make a complicated aroma that weighs down the air, clinging to my clothes and swirling up my nostrils so fast I turn dizzy.

Finally it's over. We're lifted up, one by one, onto a platform, by strong arms that gleam white and stink of chemicals. I shy away from the PeaceKeepers, trying my best to keep hidden behind Wylie's much taller form.

The platform undoubtedly leads into a building, and sure enough we're shoved towards a steel door carved with various letters and markings. It opens and snaps shut just as quickly, but instead of engulfing us in darkness as I expected the room would, the place is sprawling.

The people here are dressed in finer clothing, if possible; They're dressed in comforting shades of white, beige and navy blue, stalking around in skyscraper heels and swiping their fingers through the air, dragging lines highlighted blue this and there- New technology.

Jangerine pulls us away from the crowd- One much smaller then the one outside- and into an elevator. It's a tight fit, and I find myself squished between Kyle and Karter; Wylie is in the far corner, shielded by Jangerine, whose skirt nearly fills the elevator all by itself. She chatters off instructions as the metal box lifts upward.

"Mind you, tributes, these are _not_ your quarters. You're being sent here to be dressed, to meet your designers- Where they'll coordinate your outfits for the upcoming parade and thereafter." She glances at us from the corner of her eye, quipping, "You all _do_ know what the parade is?"

Everyone but Karter nods. He's chewing on his nail again, cradling one arm with the other, his eyes dark as night. Jangerine doesn't seem intimidated or even caring- She only huffs, flapping a tattooed finger towards him. "Karter dear, stop chewing on your nails. It will certainly misalign your teeth and who knows whats under your cuticles? You could get sick easily." Karter only stares, slowly lowering his thumb and settling her with that pitch-black gaze.

Our escort shifts so her skirt plumes out, blocking her view of him. "The parade is the number one event before the arena; It's a design of your chariots, your outfits, your overall look. _That_ is what will get you sponsors; Whether you want to look cute or dangerous or brooding, the parade is the way to set that on you. Remember now, don't pretend. If you try to look dangerous during the parade, that will stick with you; And if you don't look just as dangerous later, if not more so, your sponsors will drop you like a fly." Her eyes flash, and she glances over her skirt at Karter.

"I think he gets it, Tinkers," A sharp voice rumbles behind me. I jump, scooting against Karter. I'd forgotten Erika was there; She's glowering, her arms crossed and her hazel gaze fixed on our escort's like a hawk.

Jangerine gives a little 'harrumph', flouncing her skirt. The doors glide open, but she manages to be louder then the squeal of metal: "Only educating them as they should be." And then she's gone.

We all step out, scattering- Left, right, forward, and the two victors even go up another floor. The Peacekeepers are here, of course, and they seem to know exactly who we are; Each of us are whisked into indivisual rooms. I screech to a halt in front of the metal door, but its no use, because the man clad in white behind me gives a twist of his key and yanks it open.

I begin to turn back to him with an excuse- Bathroom, claustrophobia, you've-got-the-wrong-tribute- but he ignores me entirely, giving my one last dark look through the opaque glass of his helmet before slamming the door shut so hard my teeth rattle like bones in my mouth.

I gulp, rubbing my arms, because it's actually quite chilly. I tilt my face to the sky and frown. _Where's Dimond?_

My answer comes as if from magic- She appears in front of me, dressed in red and purple and silver, her outfit not as visually painful as Jangerine's but just about so.

Three figures melt from the shadows, and I let out a strangled curse, backing up against my designer. She only sends me a pretty smile and steps back.

Their faces come into view, illuminated harshly in the artificial light of the room- But they don't look mean, or even scary. In fact, they're all smiling. The first- a male- steps forward, and his accent is so heavy and thick it warps his words, grating on my ears painfully.

"Pleasure to meet you, miss Flemming. My apologies for frightening you?" The last statement somehow comes out as a question, and he bows. "I'll need you to remove your clothes now. We have work to do."

* * *

I almost have a heart attack, but at the look Dimond gives me, I let my shoulders relax. Of course- They had to undress me to treat me, didn't they? I feel embarrassed anyway as I shimmy out of my clothes.

I'm placed onto a metal table- Like an experiment. I push down the stirring in my gut, the feeling of dread, that rises at that thought, and instead focus on the smooth ceiling of the room. Even still I feel like there's worms- long slimy ones- shifting around in my stomach.

It's not that I'm nude, though that's plenty embarrassing, what with four- no, three people scanning me up and down critically, clucking their tongues under their breath and eyeing me as if I were an experiment. Deep down, I feel a sharp stab of betrayal; Dimond had left earlier, saying she had other things to do. She'd promised she'd be back, but I still gave her the evil eye when she left.

I've been waxed and shaved and washed and bathed- Everything burns and aches. I wonder if I'm dying, and I don't know it. I've read of things like that- People who have diseases or even cardiac arrest without really realizing it. That's exactly what I feel like now; The way they've prepared me, like a stuffed chicken, my limbs are sore and my skin is faintly pink. My eyebrows feel alien on my forehead, because they've been waxed- Then plucked- and my nails feel short and scratchy against the skin of my fingers. They too have been changed; Cut, filed, and washed thoroughly. What with all this, I feel like any moment now they'll boil me in a bucket of tar- Maybe for 'skin treatment?' I shudder, but it has nothing to do with the ice-cold table beneath me.

I mentally spin through the people in the room. They'd introduced them as a 'prep team-' _Here to make you look absolutely_ fabulous _for the Capitol, darling!_ And soon introduced themselves. The first one, who'd first spoken to me, had told me his name was Yamazen- as close as I could figure, anyway. Pronounced _Jah-mah-zen._ I'd asked him, politely, how it was spelled, but he'd only laughed breezily and flapped a hand, as if maybe I wouldn't be able to comprehend it anyway.

The memory makes my stomach churn and heat up as if with anger, and I have to swallow the lump in my throat. He hadn't meant to be rude, I was sure, but it sure came out that way.

The second on my prep team is Nell. She moves with an effortless grace, gliding to and fro on the balls of her feet, her fingers moving with expert gentleness. She's beautiful, too, with smooth skin the color of warm caramel and dancing green eyes. Her hair is jet-black, gathered in a loose bun, wisps of it catching the air and twirling around her face as if it has a life of its own. She's the most quiet of the three- The only think she'll tell me is her name, and when I ask anything else, she'll only smile, her eyes twinkling, or gesture fluidly towards my other 'helpers'. And when she does speak, her accent isn't that of the Capitol; It's soft, a stirring behind her words like maybe this is her second language. I've never heard of any other, but of course she won't tell me where she's from.

Last but certainly not least is Elvira. She's the scariest of the three, no doubt.

Elvira is like Erika, but more beautiful; In a scary, daring way. Her skin is painted green, intricately designed to look like snake scales. They sure don't feel like that- Thank Panem- But somehow that makes it scarier.

She has a silver piercing in one brow, and when she first spoke to me I nearly had a heart attack- her tongue is forked, her teeth filed down to sharp points. Worse then that, they're tattooed; She's carved little runes into them that show the inner gray of the tooth. It made me want to hurl and still does, because all I can think of when I stare at her is how much it would of hurt to split your tongue in two like that- And to actually carve something in your teeth.

She has silver rings, decorated with runes, on each finger, and a thin gold band on one wrist. Her clothes are normal enough; She wears baggy gray pants and a tank top that shows off her disturbingly buff upper arms. Her eyes are just a shade lighter then her skin.

Elvira has a pixie cut like mine, but it's much neater, combed forward into a little curve at the top. It gives her a sort of devilish look, especially since the sides of her head are nearly completely shaved- and through the little points of dark brown stubble, you can see that her head is painted green, too.

A voice comes into focus, and I realize they've been having a conversation above me without my noticing. Yamazen's voice drifts towards me.

"We should wax her again," He tuts. "Her legs..."

"No, no, her legs are unimportant. She'll be wearing a dress, remember? But all that _grime._ Look at the poor girl's hair!"

"You have hair like that, Elvira-"

"Mine is _better!"_

They begin shrieking back and forth, Elvira snapping her pointed teeth- they've been filed- her snake tongue flickering in and out of her mouth. Yamazen looks just as frenzied, waving his hands and shrieking curses at her in that ridiculous accent of his; He's speaking faster and faster until no one can understand what he's saying because that accent is just too heavy.

Nell stands on the other side of the metal table that I've been glued to for the last three hours or so, amusement sparkling in her bright green eyes. Her lips are even curled in a faint smirk.

It seems the debate has died down a bit. "Let us scrub her just one more time! The soap will loosen all that hair, I promise. We can clean her hair, too! Three birds in one stone!" Elvira gives her partner a wolfish grin.

Yamazen's shoulders slump. He wrinkles his nose, then straightens, trying to look professional. "Fine, Elvira! If only because her hair is so dirty." I don't have the heart, energy, or guts to tell Elvira that its supposed to be two birds with one stone, not three.

I'm scrubbed down again- This time is more pleasant, maybe because I know what to expect. They lather me in bubbles and pink foam that smells, to my shock, of fresh dirt- Not of flowers or strawberries or anything like that. The scent is faint, not too strong, but it reminds me of home, and I can feel my eyes burn, and I know it's not from the chemicals in the air. I glance over at Nell, and she seems to read my mind.

Her voice is smooth and quiet as she leans forward. "It's soap per District. If you were District 12, you'd smell of coal. If you were district 7, we'd give you perfumes that remind one of the rolling forests, the scent of the trees.." She looks dazed for a moment, then shakes her head gently and steps back to continue washing me down.

Soon after they lay me in a tub of something that I remember should smell sharp, like smoke, but instead reminds me of goat fur. If I told anyone else I knew I'd be laughed at- Why would grease smell like fur, and why would I enjoy it?- But I revel in it for just a moment. The mixture brings a smile to my lips, and I'm able to hold back the tears this time; Besides, it soothes the skin, and I can feel it wiggling beneath to loosen all those hairs Yamazen worried about. The entire thing feels soothing and incredibly satisfying.

When I've laid in the grease- No, I can't call it that, the soap- For about an hour, I'm finally lifted out and seated onto the table. My feeling of relief vanishes as my prep team begins to circle me like sharks, their eyes bright.

"We did a wonderful job.." Yamazen hesitates, stealing a glance at me. "But, dear, her _hair.."_

Elvira doesn't seem to hear. "Told you it would work, didn't I?"

"Would you look at that, Elvira? You were _right-_ There really is quite the girl if you just give her a bit of cleaning." Yamazen blinks, as if he's forgotten all about what he just said, and flashes me a grin. I try, hesitantly, to return it, and for once, it works. In my head, though, I feel a niggle of annoyance- _A bit of cleaning?_ Despite the grease earlier, I still ache all over. Calling that a _bit of cleaning_ is like calling a surgery a _bit here and there._ I know I haven't forgotten about that comment on my _hair_ either, which I find perfectly clean. All this sours my mood, but one person in particular always knows how to cheer me up- Even if she's only known me for a few hours.

"She certainly is beautiful," Nell murmurs behind me, and I blink, hard, then swallow and give her the same brittle smile. Her eyes dance, but she looks away first. I try not to feel disappointed.

"Just wait, miss Flemming. Dimond will be here shortly, yes? Relax yourself." I choke out a 'thank you' or maybe a 'help', and he smiles, patting my shoulder. I flinch, because I'm still nude, but he only laughs.

"It was a pleasure working with you, Vale," Elvira purrs, her forked tongue flickering out from between her lips. My eye twitches and I manage a smile for her, too, and then they're all gone.

I hunch my shoulders and gather my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around myself- Mentally. Physically I scoot down until I have enough room to lay on my back, because I know that when Dimond comes in, she'll force me to uncurl myself anyway. Besides, we're both girls. The thought makes it more bearable, and I close my eyes, but the white light above me still manages to penetrate my lids if only faintly. My brow furrows, but I ignore the minor discomfort.

And so I wait.


	8. Chapter 8: Overall It's Overalls

**Seven chapters in two weeks! WHOO! I still need to write two more by next week...I sure hope I can do it! Guys, please review. I know every single author, like, ever, tells** **y** **ou this, but really, I have seven chapters and two reviews. And yes, that's good, and YES, I am forever grateful for those reviews because they certainly lift my day every time I read them- But as you fellow authors know, the motivation to write a story fades when you don't have enough reviews, doesn't it? That said, please, please review, and share this story with others. Suggestions and ideas are welcome in either a review or a PM, so feel free to let it all out! Now, please enjoy!**

It feels like hours before the metal door creaks open and in comes Dimond- Her hair shaved on two sides and sticking out, curly and gleaming, over the top, and dyed lavender. She has little stars painted on the outside corners of each of her eyes, and a piercing in her nose that's also purple. My eyes hop over the rest of her, and I'm surprised to find she's dressed _normal-_ No fluffy pink skirts or cupcake hats. She wears a simple black jumpsuit.

"Hi there," She quips, prancing into the room with swaying hips and a smirk on her face. I scramble to sit up, but she hops up onto the edge of the table so I move my feet instead.

She studies me closely, and I feel heat rise to my cheeks, even though I know it won't show with skin as dark as mine. The urge to cross my arms and sit up, if only to cover myself, is nearly impossible to resist. I wonder if my stylists really did a good enough job- If Dimond's critical stare is one of appreciation or disgust. I feel a little sting of panic- What if I'm not good enough? _If my own designer can't call me beautiful, what will the Capitol say?_

I fully realize that if the Capitol doesn't like me, hoping for sponsors is meaningless. The Games aren't about survival, not really; They're not about how far you can throw a knife or if you can swing a sword. It's all on the sponsors, on the audience; If they're willing to let you live or die.

My gut twists and with it my stomach; I realize that the feeling is not only of dread, but hunger. I look up and see Dimond still studying me, her head tilted innocently. Giant bangles- Earrings, I think- Pull at her lobes. I wonder if her head is angled like that due to curiosity or the weight of her accessories.

Dimond shakes her head and leans back, and the little knot of panic in my chest squeezes painfully. "What is it?" I squeak, craning my head to stare at her. My voice cracks in the middle, and the table beneath me suddenly feels very, very cold.

She twirls a lock of violet hair around one finger, then slides off the table, her combat boots _clunking_ against the altar. She eyes me carefully, and then there's the _thump, thump, thump_ of heavy leather against a smooth stone floor. "I'm getting food," Her voice sings from somewhere ahead of me. She might've said something else, but the polished door opens and slams shut, and her words are quieted.

I decide it's safe to sit up and do just that, lifting myself and cradling my legs against my chest. I immediately feel more protected, and I lay my head on my knees, letting my dark hair flop over my hands. It's grown longer in the last day or two, and it's almost to my chin; Sticking up in tufts and thick as ever. I shut my eyes gently and ignore the bright spots of light against my closed lids.

I wonder how my designer could guess my needs so easily- My need for food, in this case. I get my answer when my stomach gives a loud growl, tightening and expanding as it demands for food. I wince and lock my hands over my legs, trying to reign the feeling in.

I consider opening the door and exploring, but that's obviously out of the question; I have no idea where my clothes are (though I certainly wanted to figure that out), and I'd get lost either way. I had barely paid attention as those Warkeepers- That's what I'll call them now- Had hustled me into this _dungeon._

I shiver, opening my eyes. It really does feel like a dungeon; There's no windows, and the walls are of stone. They are pictures up, paintings of pristine white buildings and rolling fields; But they only make the room more depressing, like the owner has tried too hard to make the room more inviting.

There's the click and groan of the door swinging open, and in steps Dimond, balancing two trays like a waitress- Not that I've ever had one. A glass of wine teeters so precariously on the tip of one plate that I can't help but stare at it, holding my breath as my designer bends to slide the tray onto the table.

I scoot back as she does so, and when everything is settled, she hands me a sandwich- Fresh lettuce, goat cheese, and chicken mashed between two slabs of spotted flatbread. My eyes widen and I lean forward, practically drooling. I'd had this meal before, of course, but the lettuce- That was rare. District 10 cared for animals, not agriculture. Any vegetables at all were never taken for granted.

"The Capitol has everything, doesn't it?" She says, her eyes glinting, and I realize she's pleased at my reaction- Maybe she's planned this so I could gain her favor? _Never mind that. She's a citizen of the Capitol- She knows she has everything us Districts don't. She's teasing me._ The thought nearly eliminates my hunger and I force myself to draw away from the food again, curling one hand over my stomach to quench its growling.

"Oh, don't be shy. I paid for it already," Dimond purrs, flapping a black-gloved hand and slipping onto the table, crossing her legs. She takes a similar sandwich in both hands and takes a healthy bite, chewing vigorously but speaking anyway:

"So. We need outfits, um..For you. District 10, right?" I try not to stare at the mushed crumbs that spill past her lips and litter the table. Instead, I force myself to meet her gaze, crossing my arms again. Her own eyes are so piercing and curious that I can't help it.

"Yeah," I mutter, uncrossing one arm to snag the sandwich. My stomach has knotted and unknotted itself for so long now that I have to forfeit my stubbornness. I'm not used to hunger, not like District 12 or 11; We have plenty goats and chickens at home, and when that fails, there's always the market. As for drink, we obviously can't enjoy the glass of wine that my designer is wolfing down, but we're the District of livestock; Cows offer milk.

"Oh, my bad? Want a sip?" She extends the fancy glass towards me, and I study it for a moment. It's trimmed with gold and engraved with all kinds of pretty leaves and sayings. A reddish-pink liquid sloshes around inside the cup, nearly spilling over the side. The way it sloshes reminds me of my stomach, and then of the color of blood- Which I know I'll be seeing very soon. I wince.

I must be frowning, because she laughs, tilting her head back and withdrawing the cup. I lower my gaze and take a bite of my sandwich- It's heavenly. The ham is rich, the lettuce is crunchy and juicy at once, and the cheese is thick and melted, just how I like it.

I wish I had crushed bacon, or even a few fried eggs, but I can't complain. My stomach eases bite after bite, and soon I'm licking my fingers, scavenging hard crumbs from the ivory of my plate and popping them into my mouth three or four at a time.

"Vale? Vale, are you even listening to me?" I hear the tink of a glass cup against stone and look up to meet my designer's confused, maybe annoyed, gaze. She's leaning on one elbow, frowning at me.

"I've called you a thousand times, Flemming. Listen, will you? I was saying, what do you want your- Er- Dress, to look like?"

I realize, with shame, that the food was so good I was completely ignoring the conversation itself. I push my plate away and lift my gaze, hunching my shoulders. A part of me is angry- Isn't it her job to decide what I wear? _You're the designer, not me._

Instead of voicing my thoughts I wipe my mouth on my arm, muffling my words; "As long as it's not a cow.."

Dimond grins, and I wince. I did _not_ need to see all that food in her mouth. She doesn't seem to notice, though; She's too busy laughing. "Flemming, I'd _never_ do that to you. You know, I was thinking a chicken, but I don't think you can pull of feathers."

I nearly choke on the remnants of my meal, but she's still giggling. _It was a joke,_ I think, my shoulders slumping with relief. _Just a joke, Flemming._ I hadn't yet experienced her sense of humor, so I guess that's why I hadn't caught on to it as fast as I should of. It made something else come to mind- I needed to start to get to know these people. Not because I wanted to bond, but because it would give me an advantage. I couldn't afford to be caught off guard on every comment someone made.

I clamp down my thoughts. I don't want to space out again, and besides, the conversation I was about to start wasn't one for a designer; It was one for a mentor. I suppress a shiver- _Erika._ I doubt my training will go well if she's teaching; I'd much rather have Jonah, or even Jangerine. Erika was mean, lean, and plenty angry.

This time I haven't missed half the conversation- Thank Panem. My designer is too busy dipping her sandwich in her wine, which is disgusting enough that I don't say anything until she speaks again.

"No livestock, kay? I was thinking more...Farmer." I open my mouth, already offended, but she waves me off. "I mean the kind that cares for _animals,_ like your district. I'm not going to put you in overalls and a large hat, don't worry. Though I don't think that'd look too bad on you." She glances at me from the corner of her eye, and I feel sweat gather on the sides of my head. I can't tell if she's joking or not this time.

She looks me over once before returning to her food. She's on her third sandwich now. "I was thinking a dress," She hummed. "Not a fancy, fluffy, sparkly one, mind you. Denim, maybe. Surely denim dresses exist."

I don't speak as she chomps off another bite of the hard bread and chews thoughtfully. "Yes, a dress..Short in the front, long in the back. Brown gloves- You work with plants sometimes, don't you?" I nod slowly but she's already on to her next sentence. "Alright, a dress and gloves...And..Boots. Like yours, actually, but..Prettier."

I'm liking this idea less and less. I have no clue how I'm supposed to wear a _dress-_ I own only two, one for special occasions and the other for birthdays only. I think of denim as itchy and dark, even though I've never worn it. I'm only used to simple leather and cloth.

"..Hat, and a bell. Wouldn't you like that?" Her eyes brighten, and her gaze snaps to mine for the first time. "Brilliant, isn't it!? A bell! Two bells! Little ones, right at your neck. You'll be like a cow!" She beams, and more food spills from her mouth. I watch in both disgust and awe- For her eating habits or my future clothing, I'm not sure.

"A..cow?" My voice is hesitant, croaking. I clear my throat and try again. "You're going to give me a bell like a cow's?"

Dimond's gaze trails from my eyes to my neck, as if she's already imagining it. I squirm beneath her critical eyes, crossing my arms and uncrossing them. She blinks, as if clearing herself of a vision, and returns her attention to her food, or what's left of it.

"Exactly. Smaller, cuter, brighter; We'll make it gold. Or silver? No, you'd look better in gold. Yes, that's it- A gold bell, right at your neck. We'll put it on a strip of leather. And your _earrings.."_

I recoil unintentionally, lifting a hand to my ears. I've never gotten my ears pierced, and neither have most of the girls I know; It's simply a waste of time, money, and pain. I never thought I'd have to do it now, not even for the Capitol.

I can feel my mood darken. _Not even for the Capitol._ We do everything for them; They're the reason we go out to care for our livestock every day, the reason 12 mines coal or 11 collects food. Most of all, they're the reason for the games.

I feel Dimond's chatter dull and finally fade from my ears. _She's never even asked me if I like it,_ I think bitterly. _If I want it._

There's a ringing in my ears and I realize someone's trying to get my attention. My gaze drifts up to meet Dimond's- She's tapped her own freakishly long nails against her glass cup, the noise so loud I'm surprised I didn't notice it before, or that the glass hadn't shattered already. My designer's brows are furrowed.

"You really need to stop with the thinking, Vale. Less wondering, more doing! You can't afford that in the arena." She waggles a finger in my face, arching a purple brow.

I try to stop the surprise from spreading from my mind to my eyes. She speaks of the arena so easily, like it's something inevitable- Something normal, even. For her, it is.

 _She's been doing this longer then you've been alive,_ A voice murmurs in my ear. The realization sickens me because it's followed by another thought: _She's taught dozens of tributes, and all of them have died._ And then another- _All of them have entered this room, for the first time and the last._

I must have gone a little pale because Dimond leans forward. She doesn't touch me, which is a relief, because goosebumps have erupted all along my arms and legs alike. I suppress another shiver and try to focus on the woman in front of me.

I'd thought she'd want to say something, but Dimond is already cleaning up, brushing the crumbs off the table, mopping up spilled whine with her glove, and piling all the stray napkins and eating utensils onto her tray. I watch her, stone still; She hasn't invited me to help, and so I won't.

"Off to your team, now," She calls over her shoulder, clacking her way toward the door. I sit there awkwardly, wondering if she's forgotten my current state- I'm entirely without clothing. She seems to remember just as the thought enters my mind. "I mean your prep team, silly. It's time for you to get dressed. You certainly aren't coming out here until you do." Then, as if the matter is settled, she sends me a sly wink and slips out the door.

* * *

 **Eyo, readers! So, this was a bit of a boring chapter; They eat a little, discuss what Vale's going to be wearing. I actually thought a lot about the other tributes/district's outfits, too, so you'll be seeing a lot of description next round during the parade! Whoo-hoo! Remember to review or PM me about absolutely anything, from advice to a friendly ell-o.**

 **See ya!**


	9. Chapter 9: Dressed And Adressed

**Greetings, fellow martians. I've decided that, since I'm so lazy, I'll do this: Stack up chapters! I'll release three or four chapters a time, maybe every two weeks. (When I type it out, it sounds lame..) That being said, if it doesn't work, I'll go back to posting one chapter whenever I can (I usually write on weekends.) Please enjoy!**

* * *

And here I was, thinking I was done with the prep team- But alas, they'd bustled in, chirping and smiling and twirling and gushing about how _beautiful your dress will be,_ _your hair is simply perfection,_ and even _Do you think we should give her a shovel?_ That last one was a comment by Yamazen and no other, and he fully deserved the glare I gave him. I've been told that when I'm angry, my eyes- they're light brown- Grow so bright they're almost amber, so it looks like they're on fire. By his reaction the rumors are true; He wouldn't talk to me for the rest of the time I was there, unless it was to make a teensy comment on this or that or, of course, to say goodbye.

Some part of me- Deep down inside myself- Wonders if my fiery gaze, or even just my personality, could help me win the Games. I doubted the eye-trick would work on any self-respecting Career, or any other tribute for that matter, but it was an interesting theory; One that I stored away for later.

While I've been musing, my designers have been hard at work- stitching and cutting and measuring and rubbing me raw with all kinds of leather, cloth, and denim. My feet are sore and pink from all the shoes that have been smacked onto me and plucked off again.

In the back of my mind I envision what I look like, even though I know it's no use. I'm one of those people that has almost no creativity, and in the rare moments when it comes to me, whatever I'm thinking comes out completely different. I could of simply looked down, but some part of me- the little girl, I suppose- Didn't want to ruin the surprise, not just yet.

"Finished," A voice breathes behind me, and I recognize Elvira's low purr. She glides into my vision, her snake-tongue flickering in and out of her mouth- almost in excitement, it seems.

For some reason I suddenly can't move. I freeze, stiff as stone, until I hear a haughty- but approving- voice off to my left.

"Dimond really does know what she's doing, doesn't she. I told you so, Elvira. I told you so." Out of my mouth whooshes a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, and I know that as much as the constant prattling of Yamazen makes my skin itch and my teeth grate, his approval is worth just as much as anyone else's.

"I suppose...District Ten, would you believe it? I never thought they had it in them." Elvira peers at me through her lashes with something like- _fondness._ Not once had I caught that look on her face, or even imagined it. It makes me abit light-headed when I force myself to remember that she's being kind because she has to- Because this may well be the last time she sees me.

"You'll make the Capitol proud, dear." I try not to bristle- _That's what it is, isn't it? Impressing the Capitol? Earning fans?_ It really is difficult, but I force that thought down and let my gaze trail upwards to meet Nell's. "Thank you." I can't really tell whether she buys it.

They each send me their tightest smiles and shuffle out, leaving my stomach empty, my nerves raw, and my eyes burning. I swallow what I'm sure are tears and slide off the table myself, straightening. I can't- don't- look down, because I know my hands are shaking and so are my legs, both from fear and from the height of my shoes. I remember something I once read- _One without fear is nothing but a fool-_ But it doesn't help, not really. If I'm not afraid, I'm a fool. If I am, it feels horrible anyway. What's the justification in that?

 _If Nell- Kind, quiet Nell- Is scared, I should be, too,_ I think, and even though I know that it doesn't fix anything, not really- That its nothing but an excuse- I try to take comfort in it. The true meaning of the words doesn't last, though; Never does. The fear only swallows it up all over again, sending a chill up my spine that makes me straighten and clench my fists as I stalk towards the door. It's silly, getting worked up all over a few people walking out of a room, but I can't help it. By the time I've opened the door, I feel tired and shivery, like I've just run a mile, but that's no matter to the Peacekeepers.

They lock one arm around each of mine, not roughly, but enough to let me know that they'd drag me if they had to. The notion is enough to clear my head and I tilt my chin up, blocking out the sounds of talking- of laughter- of happiness- until all I can hear is the dull thud of my heart, the rough breathing through their helmets, the soft _thud_ of three pairs of boots against a plush carpet. My worries smooth over into something like determination.

"First floor, girl." It's like I'm watching one of those old movies, where the camera zooms in on the person's quivering finger as they press the button. _Beep._ I feel that light-headed spin, that drop in the stomach, that always occurs when I ride in elevators.

That is nothing compared to what I feel when the doors slide open.

* * *

The first people I can see are Dimond and Jangerine, with their multi-colored hair and flashing nails. The Peacekeepers' fingers uncurl from my arms but I'm already staggering towards them, ridiculously happy to see someone, or anyone, that I know. I catch Jonah, too, out of the corner of my eye, but he's busy trailing after Erika, who only sends me a cool stare before melting into the crowd. Jonah gives me a small wave, a smile, and disappears after her.

Jangerine sees me first, poking her orange-tipped head out over Dimond's shoulder and squealing. "Vale!" She totters towards me on skyrocketing heels, a wide grin on her face, bracelets jangling and teeth flashing and hair shining. It's almost enough to give me another headache, but maybe that's just my giddiness at seeing her there in the flesh.

I'm not the huggy-kissy type but I don't mind as she throws two arms around me, squeezing me close. "You look wonderful, love," She breathes, nearly shoving me backwards to scan me up and down with that twinkling gaze. "They really outdid themselves. Dimond, you really outdid yourself!"

I realize she's talking about me- my outfit- and look down. It seems stupid to me now that I hadn't even bothered to check out my outfit, but maybe I was just too wrapped up in my own mind, like when you read a book and all you can do is get lost in the pages.

"Oh.."

It's gorgeous- A denim dress, just like Dimond promised. But this is beyond anything that had popped into my head when I'd heard the words- I'd been imagining overalls, maybe those flouncy kinds that end in weird skorts instead of pants. My dress is different, though; Sleeveless, swirling all the way past my waste and down my back, swishing softly just at my ankles. The front is cut short, like a skirt, and I'm wearing boots; Stylish boots, not the rough combat ones I usually wear, all gold rings and dark leather that's so _quality-_ so smooth and dark and perfect- that I feel something like homesickness, right in my gut. I could never make this kind of leather.

I pretend there's no room for that in my mind and instead continue to examine what I'm wearing. I don't know how I hadn't noticed, but Elvira, maybe Nell, had fitted gloves onto my hands- Smooth gloves made of the same dark brown leather as my shoes, so long they nearly cover my elbows. I love them- They hide my hands that have always been dry and gnarled from working leather and fur, my nails that are chipped and lined with black from so much dirt. You couldn't see any of that under these gloves.

Dimond had even kept good about her promise on the bells; Two of them hang around my neck, rich and gold, each as big as the nail on my pinkie. They're hung on a tight brown string so thin I'm afraid it will snap at the slightest nod of my head, but I like the pleasant sound they make when I move, like the school bells back at home. This time it's easier to push away the flood of memories that comes with thinking of my District.

My short hair has been styled in a sort of wild, rogue-ish way, more of a boy style then anything, but that's fine with me. The best thing about my outfit, I know, is the hat- My own. Even though I'd never say it out loud, it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy to know that my prep team went as far as letting me keep my talisman from home.

I look up, and my eyes must have been all misty or something, because Jangerine laughed and hugged me again. "Didn't they do a wonderful job? Didn't they?" She squeezes me one more time, then leans back to look me in the eye. "Wait till you see the others."

I give her a sort of brittle smile and nod. She pats me on the cheek and is gone in a shower of fleece and lace. I look behind her, panic welling in my throat- Where's Dimond?- But she's disappeared into the crowd, too. I guess I'm on my own.

I sort of shrink back as I really take in the room. I'd been too busy greeting Jangerine to take note of it before, but its absolutely filled with tributes from every District- Except for mine, it seems. District One where's crisp white suits and black ties that look good even on the girls- to a certain extent. The longer I look at them the more they remind me of Peacekeepers, and finally I avert my eyes to something else.

It's difficult to distinguish District Two from one, since they're just as much as Careers as the next, so I keep looking. District Four are dressed like pirates, the girls with fancy hats and feathers, white shirts tucked into fluffy black pants, leather jackets that only go down to their midsections, and shiny black boots rimmed with gold rings and laces. The boys are dressed the same, but their jackets sweep down to their knees.

When my eyes rest on the tributes of District Five, I resist the urge to laugh, or vomit, or both. They're dressed in gleaming one-pieces that are tight and pinched and bright blue belts with a corny lightning bolt right in the middle- for power, I suppose. Their boots are the same simple white as the rest of their shiny rubber suits, and the girls even have little glittering earrings in the shapes of thunderclouds. One of them glances over with a sort of arrogant smirk, like they _think_ they look good, and I have to shift my gaze away as quickly as possible.

District Six are nothing special, so I skip on. Seven are dressed as lumberjacks- Dark red plaid, wide brown hats, and blue jeans. They look like cowboys, with their shirts tucked in and their faces smudged with dirt- Though I suppose their designers did that on purpose.

District Eight are dressed out in a colorful array of stripes and triangles and strings. Only their plastic bracelets aren't woven cloth, and their makeup is bright, the boys with bold eyeliner and glossed lips and the girls with black-and-pink eyeshadow that glitters and lipsticks that array from a natural pale to dark pink.

Nine are nothing special, probably because they're so poor- better off then Eleven, but worse then Ten by a long shot. None of the other Districts are worth checking out, not really.

None except mine.

* * *

I see Wylie first- She's dressed in all black, in the exact same outfit as me, except her denim is darker and so is her leather. The bells around her neck are silver, and her make-up is dramatic, with bold black eyeliner like Eight and black lips. It makes her look more pale, and a bit more scary, but I suppose that's the point. I know my own make-up is probably nothing but a little eyeliner, not nearly as bold as hers, and maybe some glossed lips. I'd told Dimond I hadn't wanted anything too loud, and I trusted her to listen.

The other tribute saunters towards me now, her hips swaying and eyes bright- It's easy to tell she's proud of her looks. When she's close enough, she calls a greeting, her voice so much cheerier then that first day she was reaped that I'm actually stunned.

"Heya, Vale. Sweet outfit- Twinsies, huh? I'm rocking this black." She holds up a gloved hand, her eyes glittering.

Karter shuffles into view, dressed similar to us, with a denim shirt that reaches his elbows, short gloves that only reach his wrists and are dark brown in color, and baggy pants. His boots are shiny and leather, the same color as his gloves. He has a single bronze bell at his neck, about the size of my thumbnail, and I can tell by his reddened cheeks that he's not too happy about it.

Wylie brushes a lock of jet-black hair from her face, laughing. "Ni-i-ice, Karter. The bell adds a little ring to it, don't you think?" His cheeks go redder and he frowns, stomping past her to stand by my side, ignoring her giggles. "Hey, Vale," He mutters.

I give him a little wave, then look away. We've never been close and I don't want to be- Especially since I might have to kill him. I shut that thought off as quickly as possible, tilting my head back and pretending to look at the sky; Really, though, I'm sucking back the tears.

Kyle melts from the shadows, and the first thing I notice are his eyes, lined in black. He has no other makeup on- not that I can see- but that's dramatic enough. He wears a denim shirt with the sleeves at his shoulders, frayed as if they've been ripped; His gloves are the same dark brown as Karter's. He wears jeans, too, and black boots mounted with spikes at the sides. He actually looks s _cary,_ and it doesn't help when he brushes right past me, standing almost stiffly beside Wylie.

She doesn't say anything either, which half surprises me and half doesn't. I'm mulling over what's his deal when a horn calls- Loud and blasting, so sudden that I stagger backwards with a yelp.

"It's time. Good luck." I'm too confused to ask what she means, and by the time I look up again she's gone- into a jet-black carriage painted with a bold bronze right on the door. Wylie glides in like she's been born to ride, resting one hand on the railing- casually- And the other at her side, as if she's prepared to do a lot of waving. She looks confident, but even from here, she's pale.

"See ya, Vale," Karter murmurs, and sweeps after her.

I feel panic rise in my chest, tingling in my fingers and my arms and my neck, and I open my mouth to call out after him, but nothing comes out- All I can do is stare, dumbfounded, as he steps into the chariot. There's the snap of a whip, a whine of horses, and the chariot pulls away.

I don't know what's happening, or where they're going. That panic expands, multiplying tenfold, and my head whips around. "Huh?" Is all I can squeak. Karter's eyes snap to something in the distance, and before I know it he's pulling me towards it, hissing words into my ear- "Move!"

I'm still confused. My head swims and my limbs feel heavy, like things are going in slow motion. Then I feel something sting my palm, and my vision snaps back into focus- Karter's still dragging me towards the..The chariot! He's dragging me towards the chariot, his nails biting into my palm.

"Come _on!"_ His eyes are dark and serious. _"_ We're going to miss it."

All that confusion drops into my stomach, replaced by fear- cold and quick, shooting up my spine to tickle my neck. I can feel the knots in my stomach, the ones that I'd thought had unraveled, tighten up all over again; I know where we're going, what the horn was for, and all the chariot-business- Because I've seen it on my little screen back home so many times, countless tributes riding away into the sunlight.

The parade is beginning, but this time, it's not on some digitalized screen- It's us. Us stepping into the chariot, us joining hands, and us raising them above our heads as I've seen so many others do. I don't have time to register the sour feeling in my mouth that means I might be about to throw up, or how sweat makes my grip on Kyle's hand loose and clammy, or that my knees are shaking badly enough that I think I might fall right through the open doors.

There's no time for any of that. A cry sounds in my ears and the chariot surges forward.

* * *

 **I'd like to thank Guest for that wonderful comment about my writing! It really lifts my day when I see stuff like that, people complimenting me or even showing me how I could be better. I tell you, guys, having a review is like the present of the year to us authors. (NOT THAT YOU SHOULD ONLY REVIEW ONCE A YEAR!)**

 **Feel free to send me a PM on absolutely any ideas about this story, from characters to arenas to plots. Even just to say hi. You know I love you guys 3**

 **Souls, out!**


	10. Chapter 10: Don't Rain On My Parade

**Hello there, peoples. Sorry that those last three chapters came so late. I won't say that I didn't have any time, because I did; I admit I was being lazy. These aren't excuses, just me wanting you guys to know why I hadn't been posting. I'll try to get this chapter out by..Next week Friday? Yeah, I know what I said about stocking up on chapters, and I've decided that since I'm horrible at planning things, I'll just be posting when I feel like it. That sounds stupid, I know, but would you guys rather have sloppy, rushed chapters that I might not be motivated to do, or the good long ones that have been edited, re-edited, and..Well, you know what I mean. Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

As much as my knees are shaking, I almost fall out when the horses rear and pull us forward with a sickening lurch- I tip backwards on the heels of my shoes, arms pinwheeling. I think I splutter something, but the whistling of the wind, the heavy crunch of hooves and wheels alike on gravel drowns me out.

I hadn't realized my hand was still locked in Kyle's. He barely glances at me, tugging me forward so that I balance back onto my feet again. I'm dizzy, but I manage to squeak out a 'thank you'. He only sends me a cold look from the corner of his eye and faces forward again, shoulders straight. _What's his deal?_ I feel a sort of stab of anger in my chest- I can't figure him out. He's angry, then indifferent. Cold, then understanding. It's more annoying then interesting. At least he doesn't let go of my hand.

Despite all that, I feel myself relax. The wind, streaming through the doors, the soft nickering of the horses, the rolling of gravel beneath our carriage is all so _peaceful_. We're shrouded in darkness, so absolute that I can't see my own hand, nor the walls outside. I only know we're traveling through a tunnel because of the feel of the wind and the parades on television. This darkness isn't cold or frightening, though; It's more like a blanket, soft and quiet, wrapping around us to leave us in our own thoughts and observations. I've never had much quiet back home, and this beats it by tenfold.

Kyle says something next to me, but I miss it; His hand tightens on mine and I realize for the first time that maybe he's afraid. That despite all his cold looks, his bulging arms, he might feel fear, too. I remember that line- _Those who do not fear are fools-_ And I know that Kyle is certainly not a fool.

There's a dull roar in my ears, like I'm underwater, and I feel Kyle tense next to me- We're about to exit the tunnel. I straighten and tilt my chin up, but I'm shaking, and I know it. District Ten has never been famous with the crowd, and I'm not confident we will make any difference.

Light- Pure, gold sunlight- blinds me, playing on my lashes and making me squint. The roar that had been so quiet rises to a screaming, a pounding, that nearly makes me buckle against my partner. I feel hot and cold. My stomach churns. My hand is slippery, but my grip on Kyle's fingers is so tight I imagine I can hear the bones grinding. I sneak a glance at him and know I'm right, because his jaw is clenched and his eye is twitching, like he wants to hit someone or say something but can't. _Oh well._

I suck in a breath as the _full_ crowd comes into view.

It's beautiful and scary at the same time, like when you walk into a room and everything is just so bright and big and loud that you're intimidated but it's all so pretty, too, that it takes your breath away. That's what happens now- I make a little choking sound that's completely drowned out in the noise of the crowd, millions- alright, maybe thousands- of people, all screaming and moving at the same time. The light plays on my eyes, making everything seem fractured, unreal. The crunch of the gravel beneath the carriage fades away completely, and so do the sounds of the horses.

The road is dirt- Pale sand that stirs up in clouds of dust all around from our carriage and the ones in front of us. Men line the sides of the path. They're not Peacekeepers, but they wear uniforms. Each has a drum the size of a pony and two polished metal rods that I'm certain are drumsticks. I've always loved drums because of their beat; Like a heart, all in sync. Right now, the tune they're playing is loud and deep, majestic, even- They stare straight ahead, expressionless.

The sky is blue, bright blue like in so many perfect pictures. Not a cloud is there to block out the sun, golden rays flashing here and there, illuminating the carriage, the people, the scene in general. For some reason I feel the back of my eyes begin to tickle, and I know it's because I want to cry; I just don't know why. It's all so _wonderful._

My heart is thumping to the beat of the drums and my vision is bright and hazy at the edges from all the light and my throat is dry and full at the same time and my head swims with all the music, not just the drums, but the cheering, the rolling of the chariots, the booming voices over the hidden loudspeakers. Nothing matters but this- I can't even feel my hand in Kyle's anymore, or see him next to me. I'm not shivering or scared. I'm _alive._

The longer we're rolling along the path, the more I get used to it, and the more confident I get. I push my shoulders back and raise my chin, just like Kyle is doing, and stare out at the crowd- cool and collected. Not cute or scared or beautiful. Just _calm._

I wonder how many people are watching us right now; All those people around us, and then those at home, and those in other Districts, all staring at us from a screen, big or little, clear or grainy. How many people are judging us, cheering for us, saying, _Look, that's District Ten. Do you see them? That's District Ten._

I've never been prouder of my home. Even as our carriage swings around the corner, and the world tilts just a little bit, I barely flinch. I take advantage of the angle, though, to shift my gaze to the big screen- just for a second. I nearly gasp, because that person- The girl with the wild hair and the low cap, the swirling dress, the bold eyes and straight lips- that's not me. That's Vale Flemming from District Ten, I know, but that's not me.

Kyle is looking every bit as dangerous. His dark hair is sort of swept to the side and his eyes, so brown and rich, glare out at the crowd, like he's daring anyone to challenge him, to tell him he doesn't belong. The ripped sleeves of his shirt really do make him look more...Well, ripped.

It's hard not to smile, even as I tear my gaze away from the screen. Energy hums through my veins, and my lips quiver in the beginning of a smirk. The roar of the crowd around me, the sky, the drums, the carriage, even Kyle next to me, is the best thing I've ever experienced. The feeling is still there when the chariots halt.

The liveliness in me simmers down and the real things come into focus, like how I'm balancing on the floor of the chariot, how the horses are pawing the ground impatiently, how Kyle is already out the door and stalking away. Jangerine is tottering towards me, her heels sending up miniature clouds of dirt.

"Dear! Dear! Flemming! Smith!" She squeals, and helps me out of the chariot, taking my smooth gloved hand in her own. As soon as I step out, I feel the last of my energy fade, leaving me light-headed and a little dazed. I must look exactly how I feel, because she laughs and pats my cheek with her palm.

I sort of shift out of her grip, patting her shoulder like she's an old friend and taking a step back. Dirt still swirls in the air, but by now the crowds have died down. Out in the open, it looks like there's a lot less tributes, but still plenty enough for me to be nervous. I glance over at Kyle, who's stoic as usual, his thumbs hooked into his belt and his eyes narrowed. He doesn't bother to greet our escort.

It seems routine now that where there's a Jangerine, there's a Dimond and a Jonah and an Erika too, so I'm not surprised when all three of them emerge from the crowd, each with a different reaction; Dimond is swiping tears and giving me that lopsided grin, bobbing her head, Jonah is sort-of nodding and smiling, just a little bit, and Erika is muttering and throwing sour looks at anyone who so much as glances at her. Not much different then usual. If anyone says anything, its lost in the blur.

No one embraces me, which is just fine. This outfit is the most expensive thing I own, and that includes my house. As much as I loved my team, I didn't want anyone else's paws on it. _Have to look good for the Capitol. Then, now and always._ It's an old saying in the Districts, but I've never hated it as much as I do now.

The wave of bitterness that comes with the thought doesn't last long. The more I stand there and look around the more I really get to look at the tributes; Before, I'd only been able to see their clothes, but now I can glimpse flashes of hair and faces and fleeting hands, everyone glaring or laughing or sort of hanging off to the side like I am. There's so many that I start to feel sort of hollow-stomached, and not in a good way. I swallow, peering around for my fellow tributes, but they've disappeared. Wylie and Karter didn't even come over to say hi, which, for some reason, bothers me. _Are we a team or not?_

I clasp my hands behind my back, twisting my body to look around. On one hand, I don't want to stand alone in the middle of a dirt road full of people, like a lonely idiot; On the other, I really do need to get to know some of these tributes, if only for an advantage in the arena. It would be nice to figure out their personalities, maybe their strengths. There's no internal shudder, no hesitance when I think like this, and somehow that bothers me more then the thoughts themselves.

I sort of waddle over to the first pair I see- District Eleven, I think. As soon as I'm within five feet, a girl glances up, her brown eyes wide. They're sharp and suspicious, and just a teensy bit unnerving. I halt, ready to spin back around- But by then, the second girl has noticed me too, and they're walking towards me. I panic. Are they coming to tell me if I did a good job, or to go away, or to ask my name? I'd wanted to get a little friendly, too, but not that friendly. See, I'm not good with the whole 'social' thing. I don't- didn't- have many friends back in my District.

It wasn't like I didn't have time to make them; I just had trouble actually doing it. At school, it was easier, because everyone was in one giant class where we sung songs and scribbled down notes and basically grew up together. Once I was twelve or thirteen, though, I had to drop out- I mean, most kids do- And get a job as a tanner/painter/farmer. By farmer I mean the kind that squeezes the milk out of goats and feeds pigs and collects chicken eggs. I don't kill the animals, but I make use of them once they're dead- And really, making animal skins into cloth and using different chemicals for paint doesn't require a lot of social skills, and neither does going into a public arena where I'll have to kill to survive.

I feel faintly sick and I have to stop thinking and start talking. By now the two girls are right in front of me, their escort off to one side- A tall thin woman with dirty blood hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and a faintly worn light brown suit. Her eyes are sort of greenish-gray, but piercing all the same.

The first girl, the one with the deep brown eyes, sticks out a hand. Her fingers are bony, and her wrist is about twice as small as mine. Her nails are cracked and lined with dirt like mine are, but she doesn't have any gloves to hide them. Both the tributes in front of me have bags under their eyes and faintly hunched backs. Their eyes- both brown- Are filled with that same wary suspicion. The second's are more kind then judging, but that hardly makes me feel better.

"Pelle," She barks, and I jerk back in surprise, eyeing her in something like confusion. _Pelle? Is that a greeting in District 11?_ My confusion is only amped by the look she's giving me- At first expectant, then annoyed. She narrows her coffee-colored eyes and thrusts her hand forward even farther, drawing my gaze down to it. That doesn't last long, because she snaps her fingers on her other hand, forcing me to look right into her gaze.

"My name," She explains impatiently. "Pelle Steelgrove. Friends call me Pell." I don't know what the difference between Pelle and Pell is, but I don't ask. They're pronounced different, I think.

"Okay..Pell-"

"I said _friends._ We're not friends. You don't make friends in the Hunger Games." She glares at me, like its a test and I've just failed. I struggle to swallow and ignore the hot-and-cold wetness at the back of my neck at the same time.

"Pelle, then. I'm Vale. Vale Flemming, District Ten." I consider tipping my hat but make a split second decision- it'd be too over the top. Instead I try for a winning smile, but it comes out frail and hesitant and then disappears all together. _Fail._

The second girl looks completely different, with lightish-brown hair that falls to her shoulders in neat streaks and almond shaped eyes that are a green with little flecks of gold. She smiles, and the curve of her lips looks so genuine that I smile back. She doesn't offer a handshake, but my palm is sweaty anyway.

"Lavenne Nightwood," She murmurs. Her voice is soft and quiet, and it reminds me of Nell. My smile fades just as quickly as before, but she doesn't notice.

Pelle glances over her shoulder. "Thist! Crocas! Get your _arses_ over here!" She turns and sends me a sharp look, like she's daring me to say something. My eye twitches but I stay silent.

Two boys saunter- No, more like drag- themselves over. The first boy, Thist, has messy brown hair and green eyes. Crocas looks like Thist, sort of, but he's bigger and leaner, and Thist's skin is a shade darker. They both lift their gazes to meet mine.

"Thist Wellop," He mutters, sticking out a hand. This time I know what I expect and I shake it gingerly, then clasp my hands again. I want to wipe it on my dress- his palm was disgustingly sticky- but that would be rude. I settle for sort of rubbing it against my other wrist.

The other boy eyes me carefully, but like Lavenne, he doesn't bother for a handshake. Instead he sort of shrugs, then tears his gaze away, as if he's speaking to someone invisible. "Crocas Wildscape," He grunts. I don't know what to say to that except for, "Vale Flemming." Neither of them answer, whether because they don't care, didn't hear, or already know, I'm not sure.

I just give a little disinterested nod and I'm just about to spin on my heel and turn back when I see someone- No, two someones- Sauntering towards us. These guys have the walk down, shoulders lifted and rolled back, chins up, and all-too snarky smirks on their faces. As they come closer, I sort of squeak and take a step back, but for some reason that's where Crocas is. He glares down at me and shuffles to the side, but I could care less.

Zane and Pence are making their way towards me, and I realize that the two _guys_ are actually a guy and a girl. Zane's eyes are cold and blue, more white then anything, and when they fix on me, I freeze. I can't help it.

Suddenly Pence is on one side and Zane is in front of me and Lavenne is on my right. Thist stands in front of Pence, Crocus stands in front of Zane, and Pell eyes us all, her brown eyes flaring. I realize what this is- A defense. For me or for them I'm not sure, but I'm glad for it either way.

But I'm still standing here like an idiot, like a mouse at a cat's paws. Zane's gaze is no longer fixed on me- Thank Panem- But Instead on Crocus. His lips are spread in a sneer and his eyes are flashing with defiance, but we all know he can't stand there forever. Zane especially- He speaks first, leaning forward and practically spitting the words in his face.

" _Out_ of my way, Eleven. This doesn't have anything to do with you." He says 'eleven' like its a disease, an abandoned animal, an alien figure, a poison. His blue eyes are even bluer, and I realize it's because he's angry.

"Or what? You'll punch us, beat us up, in front of the poor Capitol? Sure wont' get _you_ any sponsors." My gaze snap to Lavenne- She stands tall, her chin up and hands balled into fists like she's royalty. The anger- The hatred, actually- That burns in her eyes stuns me. Here she had been, all polite and introducing everyone, and now she was ready to start a fight, or at least to end one. My stomach churns, because I know _this_ is what the Game's were about; Acting one way and then the other, tricking your allies, your enemies, yourself; And forever defending not only your dignity but your home. Lavenne knows all this- I can see it in her eyes, in the slant of her shoulders, her legs, slightly spread as if she's about to pounce. My throat constricts.

Pence's eyes swivel to her, about to leap to her partner's defense, or maybe just to attack, but Pell interferes. "Don't hold your breath for us to stand down, _One."_ She gives them a wicked little grin. "Oh wait, go ahead."

I flinch at her words, my eyes moving between her, Lavenne, Pell and Zane. They're all angry, or at least pretending to be. It was intimidating- The tension crackling between them, the disgust in their eyes, the way they lean forward, fists balled, as if they're ready to fight at a moment's notice. And Zane looms a head above almost all of us.

"You think you're so smart, Eleven. All you are is a ragtag group of lost _no ones_ with nothing to do but _grow._ Grow grain, grow barley, grow wheat. _Grain, grain, grain._ Ironic, isn't it? Your district is agriculture, yet they're nearly the poorest of us all. You are _nothing."_ He tilts his head up, fixing his expression with his own sick, cold sneer. "And you never will be."

Lavenne's face, previously twisted with anger, is now blank- She's shocked. She sort of stands there, her eyes wide, as if she can't believe he'd really said that. I look for tears, but there are none. She swallows hard, shakes her head, blinks, and straightens her shoulders, as if she's prepared for a large speech. _Now's my chance._

I take a step back- A small one- but my boots scuff the sand, and everyone's gaze snaps to me. Bile rises in my throat almost immediately, because when I say everyone, I mean Zane, Pell, Lavenne, Pence, and even Crocus. Thist is still glaring at the ground, like he wants to say something but can't, or won't. That doesn't matter, though. People are _looking_ at me.

I feel sweat break out on my neck all over again, and then my head. My eyes dart between all those eyes, and I take another step back, my throat suddenly dry and my lips too numb to form coherent words. "I-I'll- Go- Just-" When that fails, I sort of shake my head, like 'Ignore me!' and take yet another step. I'm not looking at anyone, not really; I focus on the hard set of their lips, their noses, even their hair, but not their eyes. If I look into their eyes I might not be able to come out of this, and I know it.

My palms feel like they've been dipped in a bucket of water, they're so damp with sweat. I can already feel my shoulders shuddering with something like panic, or maybe tears. I want them to look away- To leave me alone- But I know they won't. I know, deep inside me, that they never will. For all their kindnesses and introductions and smiles, we're different Districts. Different teams. Forty-four of us won't go back to our homes, and I plan to be one of the two that does. _The problem is,_ I think, as I study their faces- Pence's undying rage, Zane's cold indifference and disgust, Pell's adrenaline rush, the wild look of anger in her eyes that dares you to fight her, and Lavenne, her toffee skin pale, her brown eyes wide. _They all want to win too._ That only sends a new jolt to my stomach and my lips quiver.

I just want to _leave._

There's an awkward moment while the seven us stand there. Lavenne is looking at Zane and Zane is glaring at _me_ and I'm staring at everyone else because they're staring back. I hear a throat clear behind me and whip around with my fist clenched, only to stagger backward into Crocus- Again- and nearly pass out right then and there. At least I don't fall; One strong arm grips my shoulder, almost roughly, and jerks me to my feet. I feel dizzy for a moment as the blood rushes to my head, but when I can see through my confusion and the dust and the light, Kyle stands in front of me.

My shoulders slump. My legs stop shaking- Mostly. I can swallow through the mix of sand and tears and anger in my throat and smile- A quivering smile that hardly lasts, but a smile. He's _here._ He'll help. He'll get me out of this.

It's not one of those old black-and-white movies where the hero comes to the rescue, only to be a villain, too. Kyle only hooks his thumbs into his belt, leans back, and fixes them all with his meanest glare- His lips flat, one brow arched faintly, and his brown eyes almost amber with their intensity. He's waiting- For them to leave.

Thist and Crocus go first, the former taking one look at my partner and scuttling back. Crocus hesitates, realizes he can't hold Kyle's stare, and files after him.

It's over quickly. Lavenne swallows and takes a slow step back, then whirls around and speed-walks towards the rest of her team. Pell only gives him a little sneer- A snarl, even- then shrugs like its no big deal and shifts after the rest.

That leaves the Careers.

I feel cold all over again, and I know it's because Zane is staring at me, but I don't stare back. Instead, I look at Kyle, my eyes wide, my skin tingling on the intensity of the Career's gaze; It takes all my willpower not to crane my neck and look back, because I know if I do, I'll freeze again, or say something I'll regret. I'm almost pleading with Kyle, not with words but with my eyes, but he's not looking at me. He can't. He has his gaze fixed on _them._

Pence snorts in disgust. "See you lat-er, _Tens._ Next time, you'll be alone." Her shoulders and back ripple with power as she walks away, and an involuntarily shudder goes through me- I'd never fought someone so _strong,_ not that you could call this a fight. More of a stand-off. She only sends us one last roll of the eyes over her shoulder and then she's gone.

I hear a shuffle of boots and guess that Zane is walking after her. I glance up, breath whooshing from my lungs, and freeze- Just like that, I'd fallen into his trap again. He's right in front of me, but he doesn't move, his eyes glittering coldly- And then he brushes past, his shoulder so large against mine that he knocks me to the side. "Watch your back, Ten." His voice, so close to my ear, sends entire columns of fear shooting up my spine. My knees start to shake again, and that cold sweat is back. Zane doesn't look behind him; He only keeps walking before looping around and stalking after his partner. As far as I can see he hadn't said anything to Kyle.

Kyle doesn't say anything. He takes one look at me, narrows his eyes, and walks after Zane, as if nothing had happened- As if I hadn't just been _bullied,_ as if we hadn't just had the stand-off of the century, as if he hadn't just totally and completely saved my butt. He just walks off. He doesn't even wave, or apologize, or say, "You're welcome." Just _walks_ off.

I feel my eyes burning again and this time even though its with tears I know their ones of anger. They build at the corners and then spill down my cheeks, hot and frustrated, leaving me flushed and confused and even more enraged. These are silent tears; There's no sobbing or choking or wheezing. My lips are quivering, and that's all. I'm shivering despite the heat.

I stand there, squinting against the no-longer-so-beautiful combination of dust and sunlight. My eyes feel watery, but it's not the environment; It's myself. The tears haven't stopped yet, so I let them continue, running down my cheeks to gather at my chin and then springing back into motion, fracturing my vision all over again. The blue sky has been patched with clouds, and the tributes are filing out, one District after another.

Finally I lift one hand and swipe them from my face, one after another. It leaves my hand unpleasantly wet and my face feeling sticky, but there's nothing I can do about it. I start after the other Districts.

I am the last one inside.

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 **Hey-o. I finished this chapter today, on the fifth, but I might not post it yet because I still need to reread/see if I've missed anything. Until then, hang in there, readers (If you're still out there). Feel free to review or PM cx.**

 **Souls, out!**


	11. Chapter 11: Hot N' Cold

**Howdy, fellow readers (and authors.) I've been sort of drifting around on fanfic for the last fifteen minutes, sulking. Why, you ask, do I sulk? Because I have failed. I don't know if any of you guys knew, but I had started a story before this, one called 'Complications', about demigods. I quit it a while ago, maybe a month or two, because I just wasn't good at writing and the story really had no plot. However, I just went back, and looking at the reviews, I realize how many people actually read and liked my story, and I feel like a jerk, because now they'll never finish it. Anyway, I'm trying to use that as motivation for this story, in the sense that I won't quick until its finished, but it still bums. Don't let me bring you guys down, though. Read on and enjoy!**

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I trudge towards the elevator. By now, my tears are gone, but I'm left feeling light-headed and confused; My body feels thick and slow both mentally and physically, and my eyelids droop. Everyone else has already gone to their quarters- Everyone but me. I wonder, groggily, if I'll be missed. I wish more then anything that I could be with my team; It's like when you want something so much you can envision it in your mind, the paint on the walls, the soft fabric of the bed, the feathered pillows..A sigh parts from my lips. _Not helping._

The ride up is slow. No music plays, like in the movies; There's not much of it these days. I lean my head against the wall and nearly fall asleep as the elevator makes its way towards the tenth floor, leaving me queasy. I'm replaying the events that just happened in my head, the important ones; Zane, shoving by me, Kyle, giving me one last look of contempt before jogging after him, Jangerine, patting my cheek and cooing reassurance. And then the things that _hadn't_ happened; Wylie and Karter, coming to my rescue or even just to say hello, Jonah and Erika, congratulating me, being embraced. It's not that I like being touched- As I said before, I'm not much of a social butterfly, but it feels nice to lean on someone every once in a while. My shoulders slump. _No one here for that now, Flemming._

The doors slide open almost without a sound, and I stagger out, the previous headache now a consistent pounding in my temples. I feel horrible; My eyes are puffy and pain stabs at my head; My movements are sluggish, my vision free of tears but sort of doubled, like I'm not really seeing whatever I'm looking at, or I'm cross-eyed. My stomach is empty, but I feel like I want to vomit.

I only feel worse when I realize I have no idea where to go. Jangerine never gave us directions, and I'd only assumed it was the tenth floor because of my District. I slump against a wall; I'm so tired. All I want to do is close my eyes and fall asleep, preferable without any dreams. I know I can't, though. My team will be waiting for me, and the recap of the parade is starting too; Something I can't miss.

I shove myself off the wall, wincing as the mere action ignites a new pain in my head. I press two fingers to my temple with one hand and clench the other, planning to ask the first person I see for directions. I don't want to think about what will happen if they don't know the answer to my question, either. _I'm in enough trouble as is._

It turns out there's no one to ask, but a map instead. It's taped to the wall, inked out in thin black lines against the smooth white paper of the Capitol. It takes me a while- I've never been good at reading maps- But I decipher it eventually. About ten thousand turns later, I'm at what I'm certain is our door; Not only is it painted bright yellow and pink, but the number ten is clearly marked and circled in gold at the center, along with a mean-looking bull's head crossed by two swords- Our District symbol. Just the thought brings another wave of homesickness that I try my best to clamp down. I busy myself with other thoughts, like how I wish that our room was closer to the elevator. _Nothing I can do about that now._ I don't bother knocking, because it's not locked; I just yank it open.

I've interrupted a conversation. Dimond and Kyle have their backs to me, and Karter lounges in the corner. Jangerine is facing Dimond, which means she can peek over her shoulder- Which she does. When she spots me, she lets out a shrill squeal that makes me clutch one side of my head with a growl.

My escort either doesn't notice or care. "Flemming! We thought you were lost. You did excellent out there, by the way. Everyone was absolutely entranced; The dresses, the carriage, the everything! You and Kyle made an _excellent_ team. Excellent." She beams at me almost warmly, holding out her arms, but I shuffle past her. It's hard to dismiss the hurt look that comes over her face. She doesn't care that I was far behind, not really- Only that I looked good to the sponsors. _To the Capitol._ I study her carefully, but she looks positively genuine. That only makes it worse. _How can one person be so oblivious?_

My thoughts stutter to a halt as Erika emerges from behind Dimond, and I take an instinctive step back. Her hazel eyes are on fire; Her hair is wild; and she looms almost a full foot taller then me. Her lips are twisted in a sneer, and an angry one.

"Where _were_ you? We were looking for you, Ten. Jangerine was going insane. Jonah sent an entire _search party_ to look for you. Even _Kyle_ was on time, and he was right beside you- He told us. At least he had the decency to try _not_ to keep us waiting. Do you not value this team, Flemming? _Be. On. Time."_ But that's not enough, not for me, no. She takes another step forward, jabbing me right in the chest with a meaty finger. _Where in Panem were you?"_

The gesture leaves that part of my body ice-cold, like she's just stabbed me with an icicle. I can feel tears gathering all over again, and this time my eyes burn with a new intensity. It takes all my willpower not to close them and let the water spill down my cheeks. I can't seem to speak; My throat is blocked. My knees are glued together. _And I'm not even in the arena. What would she do to me if we were in the Games?_ A shiver goes down my spine. _What is Erika Peters really capable of?_

It's as if the girl in front of me can read my mind, but there's no sympathy in her eyes; Just anger. _This is what it's like in the arena,_ Her eyes seemed to be saying. _Get used to it, kid._

"Calm it, Erika. We've all been late before. At least she didn't miss the parade."

A much slimmer hand settles itself on Erika's shoulder. I can _see_ her tense from where I am, see the muscles rippling and freezing in place at the mere touch of another person. I wait for her to spin around and punch them, or spit, or yell- But she only lets out a loud, heavy breath through her nose and shrugs the hand off. "Bug off, Fife. I'm reminding the kid _what s_ he's supposed to be doing."

 _Jonah._

All the breath leaves me at once, and my shoulders slump. I feel the cold feeling from before disappear, leaving me exposed, vulnerable, and tired. I'm just as exhausted as I was when I was in that elevator. This is about as much excitement I've had in one day my entire life; Already I'm missing home.

The older boy steps into view, nearly as tall as Erika but not quite. He's so opposite next to her, with his dark brown hair and green eyes, that I want to laugh. Maybe I would, if I weren't so tired. Jonah's just as angry as his partner, though, and I can see it in his eyes; They're practically glowing. I know he's trying to restrain not only himself, but Erika, too, and I suddenly feel bad- Just a little bit. It settles over me just how much trouble I've caused my team.

While I'd been getting scolded by Erika, everyone was silent, but now they've relaxed. Karter sends me a little wave from his corner, and I give him a smile- a flimsy, tired smile, but better then nothing. I'd missed it before, but Wylie was somewhere in the back. She steps into the light, looking confused, but her expression brightens when she sees me. No one else so much as glances at me- Dimond sends me a reassuring smirk over her shoulder, and Kyle pretends I'm invisible. It's hard to ignore the betrayal that ignites- It's not like we were trusting friends in the first place. Acquaintances, at most.

"Vale! We thought you were lost." I can only stare at her, because those are almost the exact words Jangerine had just told me. She takes my hesitance for distaste and takes another step forward, and another, until she's clacking towards me in her tall black boots. "Did something happen?"

For some reason it doesn't bother me when she wraps her arms around me. She leans back, her blue eyes practically brimming with concern. I stare back at her with the exact same intensity, because it hadn't occurred to me until now- Wylie is like a big sister, both to me and to Karter. Maybe, in time, even to Kyle.

I remember she's asked me a question and shake my head slowly. "I'm fine, I just got lost." My voice is surprisingly steady, considering how downright terrified I had been of Erika. I push that thought from my mind. "Recap?"

The girl in front of me tilts her head, her brow furrowing. Then she shakes her head, the slightest movement. "That's only for the Reapings. Parades are different- You see it in person or on TV, or not at all. You _did_ look, didn't you?" Her lips curve into a smile that looks crooked and sly with her face at that angle. "You n' Smith looked _sweet."_

I feel a surge of annoyance, but I'm not sure why; Because she's chastising me for not knowing about the recaps, or because Kyle and I have actually been referred to as a team. _We certainly won't be one in the arena._

Suddenly uncomfortable, I take a step back, removing myself from Wylie's arms. "In that case, I'm going to bed." My voice is small and flat. She sends me a puzzled look that I successfully deflect from the corner of my eye. No one else notices as I shuffle from the room.

It's pretty obvious whose doors is whose- Especially since the names are smacked right on in gold lettering. I wonder how many other names have been nailed to that cherrywood- How many bolts have been put in and taken out again to accommodate new ones? _How many have died?_

I try, and fail, to wriggle those thoughts out of my mind. It feels like every room I go to, whether it be on a train or in a Capitol building itself, I can't stop thinking about the tributes that used the space before me. Tributes that slept and breathed and ate in these rooms, walked these floors, only to never return.

I hunch my shoulders to stop the shiver up my spine and open the door with a simple twist of the knob. It closes behind me with a soft click, and I swallow the dryness in my throat. _They wouldn't lock us in here._

I glance down at my outfit in dismay. _It's going to take a heck of a while to get this all off._ I peel off my gloves, then start with the boots, going through the labor of unbuckling, untying, and un-sticking them from my feet. I practically throw them in the corner, knowing that I'll never wear them again.

I slide my dress over my head, which is more difficult then it sounds. I have to untie the leather laces and avoid all the itchy, crumply parts that fold and refold. When that's finished, my hair is ruined- Not that it took too long to prepare in the first place. My hat flops onto the ground, but unlike the shoes, I care for it, so I scoop it up in one hand and lower it almost gingerly onto the bed.

The bells around my neck are an entirely different matter. I tug and pull and scrape with my newly-filed nails, but all that manages to do is peel the skin around the necklace itself and make me itchy and even more tired then I was originally. I end up trudging to the bathroom for scissors, my bare feet sore and tender- even on carpet- from all the scrubbing.

There's no door, but two silky grey curtains swing from a rod above the doorway. I swat them out of my way, ducking into the washroom.

I know that if I was just a little less exhausted I could appreciate the architecture- Intricate, swirling patterns lined in silver, dancing along the walls; A lavish tub, smooth and black, with curled gold feet and silver lining. A flat, smooth board that must be a control panel. I ignore the rest.

There's a lot more to examine, but what I can't do today, there should be time for tomorrow. I make a beeline for the sink; the cupboards are painted black with fancy silver handles, and I yank one open. Nothing. The second is the same thing, and it's not until I kneel to root around in the open-door cabinets that I find what I'm looking for.

I don't hesitate, taking the scissors in my left hand and tugging at the collar with my right. A single snip is all it takes- The silk string clunks to the ground, weighed down by the two bells. I kick both items into the corner, slap the scissors onto the counter, and waltz out. I'm too lazy to shower, brush my hair, or even change. I try not to give in to the voice in the back of the mind that thinks- and knows- that I'm only so glum because I've gotten my feelings hurt by a certain victor. My lips curve down as I make my way towards the bed.

I don't have time to appreciate the beauty of my mattress. I crawl under the covers, fling them over my head and curl up- For me, it's easier to sleep that way. The pillow is cold but soft, and it doesn't take long for my eyes to drift shut. Tonight, at least, I don't dream.

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 **Hiya, friends. Sorry, this chapter was a bit boring, but there's not much to do when you come in late and you have to go to bed because you got into a stand-off with some Careers... Anyway, I'll try to make next chapter more interesting- We're going to be starting training! Yay!**

 **Stay gold and stay bold, readers. -Souls, out!**


	12. Chapter 12: Surprise, Surprise

**Eyo..So, I want your guys' honest opinion. Is this story going too slowly? I write fairly short chapters, so that's why I have so many. Question number two: Is anyone** ** _actually_** **reading this? I mean, not to sound needy, but it really does cheer me up to see some reviews, guys...If you are reading, please, please review. It only takes a minute or two of your time, right? Come on, make an author feel a little better about her writing. On that note, read, review, and enjoy!**

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I twist under the velvety sheets, feeling sunlight burning my lids. I've slept heavily, but I don't feel much better; My mouth is dry, my throat is sore, and my legs ache. My eyes seemed glued shut, from pure exhaustion or rheum. Apparently its both, and I have to swipe one hand across both eyes before I can peel them open.

Sunlight nearly blinds me, and I wince, averting my eyes to the rest of the room. In the golden rays beaming from my window, everything is even more dazzling; All of it is ash and cherry and ebonywood, swirling with gold and quicksilver patterns. The sheets themselves are light gray, with so many layers that my legs feel tangled in them.

I'm still sore as I tug myself free of the blankets and swing my legs over the bed. Eager to get started, I shake the grogginess from my mind and slide off the mattress onto the plush carpet of the room. For a moment I can only stand, waiting for the blood to rush to my head, but the feeling doesn't come.

I hadn't noticed before, but someone has laid out clothes for me- a simple black pantsuit. I don't know why it surprises me; It had never occurred to me that we would wear uniforms to training, and even if I had known this, I would of expected something more- no, less- simple. _So much for looking good for the Capitol._

I have to remind myself that this is about how well we do; For once, it's not about our looks, but our skills. The thought unnerves me; Making myself beautiful had been a hard enough goal, but now I had to actually _do_ something. I doubt that collecting eggs or sheering wool counts as battle-worthy.

As I take a step forward, my eyes catch the clock- Paper-thin and curved, colored silver- Resting daintily on the lace of my dresser. I have to blink the sleepiness out of my eyes to read it- 6:39. _I'd be getting ready to feed the pigs,_ I think bitterly. I feel only ashamed when I catch a glimpse of myself in the large mirror above the counter- I'm dressed in nothing but undergarments, with a bird's nest of hair and my eyes squinty and dull, as if I'm still dreaming. _I can't wake up like this in the arena._

I rub the back of my neck with one hand, trying to magic away the twists and lurches of my stomach. It does nothing but disgust me every time my thoughts turn like this, so automatically- As if I were born into it. I've never been a killer, not of the animals back home, and certainly not of humans, either. Yet already I'm thinking like a survivor- Like a fighter. I should be proud of it, but I'm not. Only severely disturbed. _I can't do anything about that now._

I roll my shoulders, attempting to loosen up, and make the last few steps towards the actual clothing. I'm already undressed, so getting ready is simple- I slip it on feet-first, arching my back and tilting my head over my shoulder to zip it up. The zipper itself is cold and itchy against my skin, but the feeling fades by the time I've run my hands through my hair- I've never used an actual comb and brush in my life, except, of course, for the parade.

For just a moment I flash back to the events that had happened yesterday, which seems so far away that the twisting anger and humiliation I had felt before I'd gone to sleep were now so weak it was hard to believe they were ever there. I feel silly- Getting worked up over a few looks and a shoulder bump. _Kyle and I aren't a team. I can't expect him to_ want _to stand up for me, even if he does._

The memory-lapse is over as quickly as it started. I unfreeze from my position in front of the mirror, giving myself a quick once-over- Not that there's much to see. Before my thoughts turn to self-pity, I turn my gaze away from my reflection and open the door.

As soon as I step outside the room, I feel somehow- _Fresher._ Even excited. Training is the one chance I'll get to prove myself, not that I have a weapon in mind. There's many I can already name; axes, swords, bows, spears- But I have the feeling that none of these are for me.

It's the second time I've gotten lost in my thoughts this morning, and I've only just woken up. I give a slight wiggle of the shoulders and speed-walk down the hall; Since the training uniform is a one-piece, there are no shoes- Or maybe there are, and I haven't gotten them yet.

My footsteps are silent against the plush carpeting. When I enter the kitchen- these rooms are different from the ones on the train- Wylie is already up, casually nibbling a sandwich; Lettuce and cheese mashed between two simple, rock-hard slabs of bread.

Her gaze trails up to mine and she gives a little wave, but it's not long before she's returned her attention to the screen in front of her; A television, right there in the cookery. Her brow is furrowed, one lip pulled down in a sort of half-frown.

"What-" I'm stunned as she silences me with a wave of her hand. I have no idea what could be so important that we can't have a regular conversation- That is, until I follow her eyes to the TV.

The screen is flat and clear, nothing like the grainy screen on the train. I'm starting to realize that however nice that ride was, the Capitol was tenfold better.

My thoughts are pulled out of line soon enough. Before me stands none other than Chase Flickerman- and, as if things couldn't get any worse, his assistant, Julia Templesmith. They're both grinning those stretchy grins, their eyes twinkling and hair bouncing, but none of it is real. _It never is._

Chase's skin is still as purple as his hair, and his hazel eyes are bright as ever, but Julia is somewhat changed. I miss an entire two sentences trying to figure out what it is, and when I do, I feel slightly sick. She's wearing contacts- White ones that make her look almost alien. Her hair is bright red and streaked with pink, done in two braids that curl to a stop just past her shoulders. A tight red dress that stops above her knees and, when the camera lowers, I can glimpse two pearly-white heels.

"-Prise, Flickerman! Genius! A second arena!" Her rosy lips curl into a grin, and she presses two fingers to her mouth to stop the childish giggles.

There's a harsh smack, and I stagger, bumping right into the corner of the counter. My knees buckle and I grip my side, biting my lip to keep in the yelps. Wylie barely glances at me, and I realize that the sound I'd heard before was her sandwich falling to the ground. I glance over, and I've never seen her look so shocked; Her blue eyes, rimmed with heavy black makeup, are wide as quarters, and her lips hang open. It comes to me randomly that she has a spray of freckles right across her nose- So light I hadn't noticed them before.

My gaze snaps back to the TV- I've missed more information. By now the pain in my side has faded to an ache and I'm able to slump against the marble, fixing all my attention on the screen. Even so, I can feel hot tears at the back of my eyes, and the corners of my lips quiver slightly. I'm about to cry, but I swallow the feeling just in time, biting my lip to hold back the waterworks and keep myself from shaking. I blink rapidly, trying to clear the blurriness from my vision. _It can't be that bad._

"..Roman gladiator fights, aye, Flickerman? Well, we're resorting back to our roots then, aren't we?" She gives another high-pitched laugh, and Flickerman returns the grin, his eyes twinkling devilishly.

I wait for them to explain, but either they want to be mysterious or I've missed it. The screen winks out, and I'm left staring at my reflection.

"Second arena?" Wylie chokes next to me, and I imagine she didn't get to swallow the rest of her breakfast. She turns her wide-eyed gaze to me. _"Second friggin' arena?"_

I give her an awkward shrug and a look that says nothing but 'Don't ask me'. She squints and looks away, her lips twisted in thought.

"A first arena isn't enough, then? We need a second? The more the merrier, right?" Her voice is lower and more bitter then I've ever heard it. She pushes back from the counter, gives a light shake of her head, and stomps into the other room.

I stare at the plate and have half a mind to clean it up, but in the end, I don't. Instead I trail after her.

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In the other room, things are just as hectic.

It turns out everyone else was already awake- I'm the last to arrive. Wylie had been eating breakfast in the kitchen, but majority had hung around the sitting area.

The first person that comes into view is Erika. She's pacing, waving two hands in the air and cursing so fluently and rapidly that I feel a bit dizzy. I hadn't known there were so many different ways to say _damn._ I'd thought she was angry the night before, but this is an entirely different level of rage- she's infuriated. Vexed. Ready to kill- to murder.

Jonah is standing, too, one hand balled into a fist and his lips curled in an ugly-looking sneer. His gaze is blazing and wide-eyed, fixed to the screen with such murderous contempt that I look away as quickly as possible. His shoulders are stiff and he, too, is muttering obscenities under his breath- none as colorful as his partner's, but hurtful just the same.

Karter sits in a chair, looking a lot more confused and a lot less angry then all of us. His brow is furrowed and his eyes are dark, but he's not yelling or even standing up. He doesn't notice when Wylie and I stalk in.

Kyle stands away from us at an angle. His head is lowered, and I can see the veins bulging in his neck all the way from where I am. Even from the other side of the room I can see the enraged glint in his eye, the way his teeth are grinding together like he wants to tear someone apart with brute force alone. His left hand is curled into a tight fist and the other is extended slightly, gripping the air, his fingers crooked like claws- Like he's choking someone. He's muttering, too, but I can't catch anything. There's juice at his feet and a single apple, caved in like it's been punched, or crushed- and I realize with something like fear that he's broken it with one bare hand.

Jangerine is the only one in the room besides Wylie, Karter and I that isn't showing the least sign of anger. She's scanning all of us, looking worried and even confused, patting down her puffy skirt and pursing her lips like she knows what she has to say but can't word it. I realize the only reason she's not the least bit angry is that she doesn't care, because one way or another, it's all entertainment. If it's not that, it's that she already knows, and that thought is so plainly disturbing that I have to shove it out of the way. I'm feeling more then slightly sick.

I have to turn away from all of this, pressing one hand to my head and the other to my stomach. Never in my life had I seen any three people so angry, not including Karter. I hated the Capitol, too, but I'm not going around demolishing hard fruit and hissing curses. _Maybe I'm still in shock._

And, really, it is quite stunning. There's only ever been a second arena in Katniss's Hunger Games, and they hadn't even gotten to finish it, or even use it. I turn over Julia's words in my mind- _Roman gladiators._ The word rings a bell, a small one, but it's too far in the back of my mind; I can't remember. I'm not sure I've ever even heard of the Romans. It could be a group, or a type of bird, for all I know.

I'm almost afraid to look at Wylie, but she's not on a rampage- it's exactly the opposite. Her eyes are red and puffy like the day her sister was reaped, her arms crossed, and for a moment I feel lost; I have no idea what she's going through, knowing that she has a smaller sibling back home depending on her- One that she may never see again. _Her chances were already low, and now this._

And then I realize that at the same time, I should be angry, too. I have no siblings, no family except for a sick aunt- But I can fight for my District. I _am_ fighting for my District. The Capitol is cruel and cold in their beauty, like a snake- Bright colors on the outside, venom on the in. _It's never enough, though. They always need one more Games, one more District, one more death._

 _It's all entertainment._

The anger hits me a second too late. I'm just about to open my mouth and scream or curse or vomit, or all three, but Jangerine beats me to it- She doesn't do any of these things, thank Panem, but instead lifts her hands and yells two words only:

"Quiet _down!"_

Everyone freezes at the same time- Jonah first, wiping his eyes before straightening, and then Karter, who sort of shakes his head and lets his eyes drift over to our escort. Wylie rubs her arms, looking purely miserable, but she's not crying. Kyle's gaze snaps up, pointed and sharp like a knife soaked in blood, and his lips twist into a bitter sneer.

Erika is the last one to settle down. She slams one fist into her other hand before glancing up and realizing everyone is watching. Muttering a few more choice swear words under her breath, she turns away and hunches her shoulders. We all accept it as the most calm she's willing to be.

"You all are acting like children." Jangerine takes a deep breath, her full lips parting before closing again. She swallows, as if she's trying to work up what to say, and it takes me a moment to realize that she's nervous- An expression I don't think I've ever seen on a Capitol citizen.

"..Acting like children," She repeats, and her voice is firm, if not high-pitched. "Training starts at ten, and it's already eight. We've wasted too much time! If we want to be there bright and early, we need to get _moving."_ She claps her hands twice, and the old Jangerine is back. "Come on, now! It's all about _presentation, d_ ears! Fix your hair, brush your teeth! I alone will be expecting you back in.." She lifts one hand elegantly, eyelashes fluttering. "Thirty minutes! Go, go, _go!"_

Out of the blue it occurs to me that I haven't seen Dimond, but there's no time to ask. Jangerine sends us all one sharp look- accentuated by two hard blinks- and whirls on her heel, click-clacking out of the room.

We all scatter like rats- Erika storming through the door and Jonah right at her heels, Wylie rushing towards her own room, and Karter right after her. Kyle still looks like he wants to fight someone, or at the very least punch a wall, but he squares his shoulders and stalks out. I'm left feeling lost and already tired on the inside and out. The excitement from before is gone, replaced by pure laziness.

I drag myself to my room anyway, slipping inside and letting it click shut behind me. I have no need to do my hair, but I know at the very least I can brush my teeth. I do just that, and when I'm finished, all I can bring myself to do is sit on the edge of the bed.

I glance down at my feet and wiggle my toes, watching the dark fabric over them shift and bend- I'm still without shoes. A quick glance reveals that I haven't missed them, perhaps because they're simply not here. I wonder if I'm really to walk around barefooted, or if Jangerine simply forgot to set them out. It does sound like her.

My questions- and concerns- are answered when I walk down the hall a second time. Parallel to the door are six pairs of shoes, each a different size, with stiff white tags and curly handwriting. I trudge towards them, squinting to read:

 _Erika, Jonah, Kyle, Karter, Wylie, Vale._ There's no note or signature, but it's not hard for me to guess that Jangerine set them out for us.

I pull on my pair- even if the shoes aren't the same size, they're definitely the same shape and material. Black leather, black laces, and black heels- Not actual heels, but thick, ridged ones that span the entire bottom of the shoe. They're combat boots. I lace mine quickly, tucking the ends into the shoe itself and standing. It's almost unnerving how perfect a fit they are- Not too tight but not too big, spacey and light on my feet. I have a feeling I could run all the way back to District 10 and my feet wouldn't hurt.

Wylie appears first, and I have to admit she pulls off the entire thing quite well- The black suit hugs her body in all the right places, and the boots are sleek and shining on her feet. She wears a black bandana around her head that makes her blue eyes seem even brighter against her skin.

She gives me a little half-hearted wave, then leans against the door and fumbles for something- a celery stick. I have no idea where the thing comes from, and I don't ask either- Just watch as she munches on it, a faraway look in her eyes.

It's not long before all of us are in the same room. Frankly, everyone else I can see pulls off the uniform a lot better then I do- Even Karter. He's short and scrawny, but the ring on his right hand helps. I don't know where that came from, either. It chips off a corner of my ego, my knowing that Karter himself looks better in a black one-piece than I do, and my heart sinks just an inch- I've never expected sponsors for beauty, but up to this point, it had been nice to entertain the possibility. Now that I can compare myself to my team, though, I know that dream is going out the window.

No one else seems to notice my self-pity. We're already filing out the door, taking all the twists and turns down the hall. Our boots tap against the floor beneath us, and Karter is muttering something like a nursery rhyme under his breath, but other then that we're silent; At least until Erika has half a mind to begin throwing out random pieces of advice. This bothers me- Couldn't she have waited, or even started sooner? I listen anyway.

"Remember, survival stations first. You've heard it a million times, but I want you to _listen._ In the arena you're as much of a risk to the heat or the poison then to a weapon. Go to every one, even the snares and the fires. I don't recon any of you have ever _made_ a fire?" When none of us answer, her lips curl into a sneer. "Right. Of course you've never had to cook your food in the _wild."  
_ I know I should keep my mouth shut, but I don't; whether it's because I'm annoyed with my mentor or because I'm simply energetic, I'm not sure. "What about Careers?"  
We're all still walking. Erika glances over at me, her hazel eyes flashing. "Careers are worth _nothing,_ Flemming. They're fancy and strong and they have sponsors, but you could, too. Ignore them. If they come your way, go the opposite direction. It's not weak; It's smart. The last thing you want to do is provoke those guys." She shakes her head in utter disgust. I wait for her to continue, but she doesn't. I take that as my cue to stop asking questions. It doesn't even occur to me that Kyle hasn't been too engaged in the conversation- I'm not sure if he's even listening. Not that I care.

Jangerine doesn't say a word through all of this, her heels making no sound against the carpeting. Occasionally she'd make a 'hmm' under her breath or nod or glance over to show she approves, but nothing other then that. She's changed her style all over again, too- her hair is so blonde it's almost white, streaked with red and pink. Her eyelashes are red, too, and her lips are literally white as snow. Her eyebrows are still green, which clashes so horribly with everything else she's wearing that I can barely look at her, afraid I'll laugh or cringe or embarrass the both of us in general.

I'm too lost in my thoughts to notice when we enter the room. My gaze travels up slowly- The smooth metal walls, the floor, the racks. Weapons of every kind- Axes and bows and daggers and javelins. All of them glint cruelly in the artificial light, which bounces off everything in the room- Including the short glass walls that line the second floor like railings. Behind it stands dozens of sponsors, all chatting and laughing and waving their hands. I start to feel dizzy. _What am I doing here?  
_

It doesn't make me feel much better when I see how many people are with us. All the Districts have come, and though I'd been expecting it- How could I not be?- I simply hadn't envisioned so many people in one space. My eyes flit from person to person until the world begins to spin; We're all so different. Slim and wide and short and tall, dark-haired and fair-haired, brown eyes and blue. Sneers and smiles and frowns and smirks. We all wear the same clothing, but the similarities stop there.

Erika, Jonah, and Jangerine drop back until all the recent tributes make a rough circle. We don't join hands, thank Panem, but everyone looks nervous enough.

There's a girl at the center of our hoop, her legs crossed and elbows on her knees; Her skin is pale, and dark hair flows down her back. She has two eyes that reflect the sunlight so brightly I can't tell what color they are; Brown or grey or amber or blue. Her smile is thin and beautiful, but cruelty laces her every move.

"Greetings, tributes, quadrutes. I suggest you all listen closely, because those who don't will be one of the forty-six who don't ever step foot outside these Games again." She leans forward, cupping her hand in one chin, drawling out the last part of her sentence carefully.

"I'm not here to teach you- There's assistants for that. You're all welcome to go to any station you please, but let me give you this: _Take. Time._ On the survival stations. All anyone ever wants to get to is the weapons, but we all know that it's not your combat skills that matter in the arena. It's smarts, too. Ninety percent of you will die of some natural cause or another. Dying of thirst or cold can hurt just as much as a steel blade, kiddos. Oh, n' no fighting. There's simulations if you need them, but we're not going to be hurting each other in here- Kapeesh? There'll be enough time for that in the real arena." Her eyes flash with something like amusement- Or is it anger? It's gone before I can tell.

I expect her to say more, but she only rolls her shoulders and picks herself up by her feet, uncrossing her legs while balancing with her palms face-down. She hops to her feet, sweeps a few strands of hair from her face, and sweeps her gaze over all of us one last time. "You may commence." Her voice is clear and teasing as she saunters out of the circle, holding her arms out like an invisible shield so that two tributes part for her to pass.

Our circle falters and breaks apart, pieces floating away to different stations- snare-making, weaponry, herbs. I glance around frantically for my fellow District members, but they're already gone, lost in the crowd. I feel panic well in my chest and it takes a certain amount of effort for me to squash it. _This is only training. You'll live without them at your side, Flemming. After all, you're going into the arena._

I ignore that part of my brain, wiggling through the crowd and making my way towards the plant knowledge. Most of District 10 is farmland, so I've never seen a forest in my life; I know I need to memorize all the berries and roots and poisons before I can even think of going towards the weapons' station.

I slip past the last person in my way and shift so I'm right in front of the screen. It's bright white, written in the Capitol's neat, straight, and bold typewriting. I have to lean forward to click and slide to what I want, but my fingers are slippery with sweat and I've never used technology this advanced. I can't seem to make the screen do what I _want_ it to do.

"Need a little help?" A voice purrs from behind me. I jump, whirling around, my face crumpled into something like guilt- No, humiliation. After all, what kind of tribute doesn't know how to work a touchscreen?

A boy stands behind me with thin, dark brown hair that flops into his eyes and curls behind his ears, dark brown eyes that are twinkling with something like mischief, and a lopsided smirk. I'm sure if our uniform had pockets, his hands would be in them, but instead they're crossed, his shoulders relaxed like he's willing to wait all day but would rather not.

He sees me staring- With horror or confusion, I'm not sure- and gives a short bark of a laugh. "Chill, Ten. I'm not going to rob you..What's the point, if you don't have any money?" His grin widens until I can see two crooked white teeth.

When I still don't say anything, he shrugs one shoulder and leans past me, stretching one long arm to tap the screen. There it is- All the information I was looking for. He sees my dumbfounded expression and his lips tug down in a mocking frown. "Don't know how to work it? Really, all it takes is a few taps." He points to a finger for emphasis, arching a brow.

I decide I don't like him and straighten, giving him a steely glare. "I had it, _thanks."_ The last part comes out more pointed then I mean it too, and he notices. There's that laugh again.

"Just helping an outer District out," He drawls, and for just a moment his eyes meet mine. It doesn't last, though, and he turns away, swaggering into the crowd. I think I'm imagining it, but he calls something like, "Crash!" Over his shoulder. I don't linger on the thought for too long.

I shake my head, muttering something particularly unpleasant about a certain thin-haired tribute. My anger doesn't last, though, and by the time I melt back into the crowd I'm murmuring what I've learned under my breath- "The bush usually isn't poisonous, but the berries are.."

Next is the snare station. I've never made a snare in my life- I don't hunt, I raise. The assistant tries to help me out, but I can't seem to work it through- The string slips through my fingers, making all the wrong loops and twists, and I can't seem to make a knot for the life of me.

I feel panic rising in my chest. _What will I do in the arena without food?_ It's not like they'll lay out a goat or a chicken for me to use. I'm slowly realizing that I've been left to my own devices, and that maybe being intelligent isn't the only reason the survival stations are such important points in any mentor's advice; Maybe it's simply because sometimes, one has to move out of their comfort zones. _That's what I'm doing now._ I feel myself relax the more I think about it- Of course my snares won't be perfect on the first try. That's what practicing is about.

My first snare is actually pretty good, though it's impossible for me to move onto the second one. The one I've made is sloppy, I suppose, the twigs wobbly and the string not as tight as it should be; But I've completed it. I feel pride replace my panic, the feeling multiplied by the look the assistant gives me- Like maybe I'm not a hopeless case after all. _I can learn._

I rise to my feet just as another tribute appears- A girl with bronze hair and skin and bright blue eyes. She's tan and muscled, and I have to admit to the spark of fear I get when I first spot her; I can guess she's a Career. I imagine Erika's low, gruff voice, telling Kyle and I to avoid them, and I speed walk back into the crowd.

As I walk, I go over what I have left to review. There's camouflage- I'm not sure if I'm any good at that either- making a fire, and then, of course, weaponry. I still have no idea what I'll use; Maybe a small knife, or a slingshot. I've never tested my aim, either. That feeling of hopelessness that's become so familiar settles on my shoulders again. I'd been reaped completely unprepared- I had no weapon, no alliance. I might as well let myself die in the bloodbath.

My brain gives a sort of nervous jump. _Where did that come from?_ Even if I didn't have much of a chance in these Games, my self-esteem did not appreciate thoughts like these. All this reminds me that I need a plan- One for an alliance, and for what I'll do when I'm actually in the arena. At the same time I can feel my mind tumbling to a stop; I'm getting too ahead of myself. _Weaponry and camouflage first, plans later._ That smooths things over a bit.

I'm just heading over to the paints when a whistle sounds. I stagger back into a boy from another District, but he doesn't notice, because everyone else is surprised too- We all look up, some wide-eyed, some glaring, some looking plain bored. I'm almost certain my expression is the former.

"I'm afraid Training is over, kiddos- For now! Lunchtime!" There's a tinkling laugh and I realize it's that woman from before.

We're herded like cattle, all of the tributes surging forward in one big group- I have no choice but to follow. I weave my way through the individual bodies, trying to find my own District, but it's impossible; I can barely hear over the swell of voices and the tinkling of glass and metal, much less see over the heads of anyone else. This time there's no panic, only discomfort. Even this dissipates, though, as soon as we enter the _real_ dining room comes into view.

* * *

 **Hey...So, I'm pretty darn unhappy with this chapter. It came out crappy, at least to me. I really need to get better at my writing (AKA explaining things, _not_ forgetting to add things in, adding detail..) I'll be working on getting better, though. I need to read more. And, PS, My chapters will be two or three times longer now, so I can add in everything I need to (Mostly the detail). **

**Anyway, have a great weekend, guys. Also, happy Veteran's Day! Souls, out!**


	13. Chapter 13: Fire And Ice

**Eyo. So, as I said last chapter, (which was so crappy..-cringes-) I'm gonna start making longer chapters, so this story isn't as...Well, long. Most authors by now would be in the arena, but I've barely started training..So from now on, my chapters will be 5-6k words, I think. Just trying to keep the story moving. Anyway, guys, read, review and enjoy!**

* * *

As tributes split off in either direction, I slip off to the side, pressing myself against the wall. I realize I have no idea where to sit- Just as before, I can't seem to find Wylie or Karter in the crowd, and even if I could spot Kyle, I wouldn't sit by him.

"That wall looks mighty comfortable." There's that same purr, and when my gaze shoots to the side, there stands the boy from earlier, his brown eyes narrowed and a lopsided smile on his face.

"I..I was just.." I let my gaze rest on my feet. "What do you want?"

He takes another step forward until I'm forced to look at him. When he notices he has my attention, he gives another one-shouldered shrug. "Relax. You looked lonely, and I don't suppose you're a Career.." I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad one. My jaw tightens. "We lower Districts should stick together, y'know."

I don't know why he's being so friendly- Does he want a favor, or an alliance, or something more? I force myself to look him in the eye when I speak. "What District are you, then?"

His gaze is steady on mine- unnerving in its laziness. The longer I look, though, the more I'm convinced there's more to this boy then I think.

"Twelve. You?" My expression must betray my shock, because he gives that short bark of a laugh. "What, thought I'd look somethin' different? Not all of us can be a Peeta Mellark." Bitterness laces his voice, and all of a sudden his eyes look away from mine. His lips are turned down in a frown.

Enough time passes for me to count the tiles beneath us. "Ten," I finally answer. He glances at me through shaggy bangs, and something about that look makes me shift back again.

He doesn't ask for my name, or for an alliance. "Come join us," Is all he says, and when I stare at him, he gives a shrug, turns on his heel, and saunters in a seemingly random direction. I grimace and hurry after him, and it doesn't occur to me until I'm at his side that he said 'us', not 'me.'

The tables are simple metal, but there's so much food adorning them that it doesn't matter. The boy in front of me risks a glance over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming, and I realize he's enjoying this- My shock. I look away as quickly as possible and cross my arms.

"Feast your eyes on the great tributes of District Twelve." He makes a little mock bow, and his gaze shines with something like malice. My gut turns, but I slide into a seat.

A girl that looks exactly like him but thinner glances up, her lip curling into a sneer. Immediately, Pell pops into my head- This girl has the same suspicion in her eyes, the same hardness that comes from living in a District poorer then my own. She twirls a fork in one hand, eyeing me with bright eyes.

"Who's _that?"_ She's glaring right at me, but the question is directed at the boy. He's already begun to eat, casually stabbing his fork around his plate and chewing noisily. His eyes roll and rest to a stop on the girl in front of me.

"Don't get your boxers in a twist, Tess. She's a friend." He barely glances at me when he says this, and he looks so relaxed- his shoulders slumped and his hand flapping around in the air- That I wonder who exactly he is. The boy I'm seeing now- Uncaring, completely calm- Or the one that would peer at me from the corner of his eye with something like hatred.

The girl- Tess- Only sends him a sneer. "There's no friends, remember?" She says it in a drawling, high-pitched voice, as if she's imitating someone. The boy snorts.

There's a rustle and I flinch when a boy slides into the seat at my left. "Hi." His voice is light. I sneak a glance- He has light brown hair and brown eyes. I'm starting to think that maybe everyone in District 12 looks like that.

"You're breathing all over the _food,_ Fletch. Get off." Tess leans forward and pushes him back with one hand. He makes a face at her and breaks into a goofy grin. "Who's that?"

I grit my teeth and focus my eyes on my food. _Am I just a that now? I'm right_ here.

" _That_ has a name, y'know. Not that I know it." The boy with the thin hair shoots me a narrowed look.

"So do you, Nash. Did you even introduce yourself?' Tess's lips curl into an ugly sneer. "Pig."

"Pigs are for Ten, Tess," He drawls, and his lips curl up in a knowing smirk when Tess sends him a scowl and returns to her food. I've been forgotten- again. Not to mention they insulted my District with _pigs._

"Vale." I glance up and let my fork clatter onto my plate. It's like a bell- Everyone's gazes draw to me as if by magnets.

Tess snorts, running her tongue along her lips like she's thinking of eating me for dinner and not the food on her plate. "That's a dumb name. Vale? What is that, kale? Like wheat?" She spoons something into her mouth, arching a brow.

My nostrils flare and I send her my best glare, leaning forward and resting my elbows on the table. I remember Erika's warning, but this girl's not a Career- And I should be allowed to have a little fun. On that thought I pull a smile onto my face, as if I couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

"Oh, I don't know. Probably just some old thing- But Tess? I've never heard a name like that. Test, maybe? Mess?" My voice isn't my own- It's sickly sweet, dripping with sarcasm, rolling off my tongue and through my lips like honey. The look she gives me is murderous, and I gather the courage to shrug.

"Whatevs." Just like that, her anger dissipates- She brushes a lock of brown hair from her face and returns to her food, looking almost bored. I lean back and blink, because I've never known someone who could turn off their emotions so quickly. She knows it, too, by the little smile she sends me when she thinks I'm not looking.

"Ey, Fletcher. Where's Cecelia?" The boy to my right leans towards my direction when he speaks, and I have to push my chair back. I've always despised habits like those- People reaching over _me_ to get something, or getting in my way just to talk to someone else. I glare at my thumbs and wait for them to finish their chat.

"She said she didn't wanna go, remember? She wasn't feeling good." Fletcher's voice is hesitant, and his gaze slides to me for a fraction of a second. I realize with a sort of pang that he doesn't want me to hear- That even if I've been invited, I'm not part of this group. _And they'll only keep lying._

My gaze flicks between the trio, but the decision isn't a difficult one. I swallow thickly and push my seat back even further, getting up. No one notices as I walk away.

* * *

I'm minding my own business, letting my feet guide me along the smooth carpet of the halls as I return to my room. I rub one arm as I go, feeling hurt at just the memory of what had happened. That single look from the boy from Twelve had convinced me that I was meant to be alone in these Games at least. I wasn't trusted- I wasn't wanted. My own District hadn't even invited me to sit.

On some level of consciousness I know I'm being childish; If a person from another District appeared so suddenly in my own group, I wouldn't want them to know anything too important, either. And the only reason Wylie and Karter hadn't eaten with me was because I hadn't made the slightest effort to look for them- In fact, I'd been planning to eat by myself.

I guess that's how it'll be from now on- Meeting people only to fall out with them. I figure I won't meet anyone at all if that's the case. Maybe my personality simply wasn't built for things like this; Maybe I was meant to be a lone wolf. At the very least it sounds cool.

I'm staring so intensely at my feet that I forget where I'm going. One moment I'm trotting along, my lips turned down in a frown, and the next I'm sprawled in a heap on the floor, all tangled limbs and flashes of light.

"Get _off."_ The voice is a growl, and I scramble back almost instinctively, drawing my knees to my chest. It takes me a moment to realize that there's a boy in front of me, already crouching, with stringy brown hair- But it's not the one from before. His eyes are cold and blue, like twin chips of ice.

I can feel my heart doing frontflips in my chest as I rise to my feet, leaning against the wall for support. I squint, but the image is the same- Zane Hillocks stand before me, already recovered- He's large, larger then I'd noticed before- Six foot one at the least. He's too far away to tower over me, but the sneer and the gaze are enough to make me shiver.

He looks me up and down, not in awe or greed, but disgust, like I'm a dead animal he's found on the road. When his eyes meet mine again, I feel that same chill from before, and even though I'm suddenly cold all over, my throat is dry.

This situation can only get worse if Pence appears, but I don't see her yet- I begin to inch along the wall, my shoulders hunched and my skin tingling like I've just been charged with a full shot of pure adrenaline.

"Leaving already, Ten? 'Fraid to hang around?" The sneer curls into a cold, thin, smirk, and he takes a step towards me. "Training may be over, but you don't gotta go just _yet."_

My mouth pops open before my brain can tell it not to. "I'm not afraid of you, for one, and I can leave whenever I _please."_ It's not the best comeback, but it's enough to make his eyes go still and wide, like he's just been slapped. One corner of his lip twists and from his throat comes a growl- One of a wild animal, like a lion or a bear. I nearly choke on my own fear as I stagger back.

"I'd watch my tongue if I were you, farmer girl. Otherwise, you might not have one." There's no smile now; That crazed expression stays glued to his face, like he's forgotten how to get rid of it. I've never been good at shutting up, though, not at home and not here- I'm stubborn like that.

"What're you gonna do? Attack me in the halls of the Training Center? Call for your _girlfriend_ Pence?" Almost against my own will I take a step towards him, not back, my amber eyes burning into his blue ones; Fire versus ice.

He doesn't attack, though. All at once, his shoulders roll back and his gaze slides off mine like it was never there in the first place. "You'll figure _that_ out soon enough, Ten. Watch your back." His voice is low and chilling, like a true monster's. I feel my mouth clam up all over again, and I'm left speechless as he disappears down the hall.

I'm left standing for a moment, scrambling for memories. It takes me several long moments to realize that this is the tenth floor, and the Careers' had their own. That being said, the only reason Zane would have to come up here was if he were looking for something- or someone.

And then, all over again, I freeze. He knew I was here- There's no other explanation. I'd been herded into a trap, an ambush, really. He'd been looking for a fight and he'd gotten one.

I only feel worse when I recall Erika's words: "Ignore them. If they come your way, go the opposite direction. It's not weak; It's smart. The last thing you want to do is provoke those guys." Before, I'd been convinced that I'd understood, that I would never be so stupid as to go around looking for a fight with a Career- but I'd just proved myself wrong. For the first time since I've met her, Erika's words really sink in, along with something like respect.

At the same time I can feel fear tickling the back of my mind, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up as if with electricity- I'd just provoked a Career, a tribute from District One, and the sibling of Graede's murderer. My stomach heaves and I have to rush to push back the images that come with that thought; A blood knife, torn skin. I feel my walls go up once more, shooting straight through those memories like bullets and leaving me feeling hollow and somewhat strong.

The rest of the walk to my room is a long one.

* * *

I've barely stepped inside when Jangerine and Erika appear, looking so opposite with their hair, eyes and expressions alike that for a moment I'm genuinely startled. Thankfully my expression smooths over quickly into one of blank observation.

"How was it?! I do hope you followed Erika's advice. You did follow it, didn't you? I'm sure you did. Why wouldn't you!' Jangerine gives a high-pitched laugh and I stare at her for a moment. It dawns on me slowly that my escort is nervous.

My lips curl into a grin. "It was fine, Jangerine. I'm sure all of us looked pretty...Presentable." The word feels alien in my mouth, but it makes Jangerine happy enough. She squeals and claps her hands together. "I'll go get dinner ready, then."

Erika doesn't bomb me with questions. She only gives me a short, curt nod, and the message in her eyes is this one: _We'll talk about it later._ I have a feeling it has something to do with us being in public; After all, I'd already decided myself that the best way to go in the arena would be alone. I try to build on my own argument with the revelation that if my mentor doesn't trust Wylie and the others, I shouldn't, either.

At dinner, we all sit in the exact same order we had when we'd been riding on the train to the Capitol. Unlike that, though, the chatter here is infinite.

"I'm pretty good at the edible plants, I think. I got a ninety-two." Wylie looks smug, staring down at her soup and twirling a lock of black hair around one pale finger. Her blue eyes flash with triumph, and I feel a spark of hope for her- If I don't win, it's always nice knowing there's three other chances to bring my District pride.

"That's great. Herbs and insects really is the most important station; Each one of you could just as easily be Foxface." Jonah's eyes are dark and absolutely serious, and so his tone. The clinking of metal on metal fades as we all let that sink in. I think we're all remembering the girl in Katniss's Hunger Games, who'd been too clever for her own good when she'd eaten those berries. Curiosity killed the fox, I guess.

Apparently Erika is thinking the same thing. She sets both elbows on the table, completely ignoring the look of utter horror sent her way by Jangerine. "He's right. I don't know how many times I'm going to say this, so you'd do best to listen." Her voice is a low rumble. "Dying of poison or thirst is worse then a knife. At least then you die quickly. _Learn_ your herbs. At one point or another in these Games they'll be all you have." She leans back and crosses her arms, her hazel eyes eerily bright in the light of the chandelier.

Wylie is looking pale, and I think of how it must suck to have been mowed over so quickly. She recovers quickly, staring into her soup while stirring it. I don't know why she's so worried; It's not like she got anything lower then an eighty. A ninety-two was practically a nine out of ten, which was a lot better then I'd done. All this reminds me that I'll need to hit up on the herbs tomorrow- Again. I'm starting to worry I won't have enough time to practice as much as I need to.

For the second time this week my mentor is reading my mind. "Listen up. You all have three days to do what you need to do. There's making snares, edible plants and insects, making a fire, camouflage, and weaponry. Divide it up, and follow your mentors. Survival stations first; Spend as much time as you can spare on the edibles and the snares first, and then go on to the fires. Camouflage isn't as important- Your clothing will probably serve you just as well, and the chances of finding actual paint in the arena are one out of ten. Do _not_ waste your time. And remember, weapons are just as important as anything else. Learning what berries are what can only take you so far." Her lips curl in a sneer.

I'm drinking this all in, quietly spooning buttered potatoes past my lips as she speaks. Even with all that information, though, I have questions.

"You're our mentor, aren't you? When will we start training with _you?_ Combat? Knowledge? Are we training as a team or individuals?" I mean to be polite, but the way I'm speaking I'm sure she sounds rushed. Her eyes darken and lock with mine.

"Watch your tongue, girlie. I don't _train_ you; You do that all on your own. My job is to give you advice and make sure you don't die, and nothing else. Don't expect anything more." She bares her teeth and I quickly find something else to look at, like my plate. I'm shivering, because the first words she'd spoken were almost the copy of what Zane had told me just a few hours earlier. My gut rises as I think of the connection- _How can she be so similar to a Career?_ _  
_

"She's just asking you some questions, Erika. You did that all the time, remember?" I can't tell if Jonah is teasing or not, and his partner can't, either. They stare at each other for a long moment before Erika shakes her head and returns to her food. Energy crackles between them, making us all freeze, but it's over just as quickly as it started. Jonah turns to me, but his gaze is a lot less intense.

"I'm afraid Fife didn't answer all your questions." I don't say anything, choosing to stir my vegetables around on my plate with my fork. "I will instead. It's up to you whether or not you want to be advised alone or with Kyle." My gaze lifts for just a second and I open my mouth to ask another question, only to snap it shut again at the fire in Jonah's eyes: _We'll talk later._ I bite my lip, considering, then return to my food.

Jangerine clears her throat politely, fluttering her cherry-red lashes. "Speaking of Kyle, I don't believe you've shared your day yet? Care to tell us how training went?" She sends him a stretchy smile, but he doesn't return it. I can see the muscles rippling beneath his shirt as he shifts to make eye contact.

"I did what I was supposed to do. Edible plants, snares, fire." His voice is flat and low like a soldier's. I realize that he's completed a lot more then I have, which is only more reminder for me to get my butt moving tomorrow. I needed to get these things done and fast.

The corners of Jangerine's lips quiver, but to her credit she keeps right on smiling. "Of course, dear. I wouldn't suggest otherwise." Her voice is just as tight as her smile, and I wonder if our escort is afraid of Kyle Smith. It would certainly make sense; We'd all seen what he was capable of that day he'd had me pinned against the train.

His gaze locks on mine- swiftly, as if he's read my mind and can sense what I'm feeling, which is nothing but fear and suspicion. My muscles lock up one by one, like a machine, and I straighten, returning his glare with a wide-eyed one. The tension between us is more palpable then the food on our plates, and once again, silence falls around the room. His brown eyes are dark and intense, and I'm wavering, the fork quivering between my fingers. The boy at my side sits still as the table itself.

Jonah's gaze has been slipping between me and Kyle, his pupils narrowing to slits. Finally, he clears his throat, and the look he gives us both is practically murderous. I feel sweat break out along my face and push the last of my meal away, my lips suddenly dry.

"Thank you, Kyle, for sharing. Karter, how was your day?" His voice is clipped and firm, leaving no room for argument. Even Jangerine is silent, her eyes slightly wider then usual and flitting between all of us like she's unsure who she's supposed to be paying attention to.

"I went to camouflage first. It was, um, cool." Karter shrugs, his gaze fixed on his plate the entire time. He's so skinny and pale I can't help but stare; Even his plate is scarce, with only a glob of mashed potatoes and a single grape, both of which are untouched.

Jonah's gaze softens. He leans forward and crosses his arms on the table, but there's nothing threatening about it. I realize with something like wonder that he's trying to coax the conversation out of Karter; He really does care.

"And then..." Karter trails off, realizing everyone is looking at him. He shifts down in his seat a bit, and I can see his adam's apple bobbing. "And then I made a fire. I didn't spend too much time there.."

"It sounds like you got a lot done." It doesn't, not really, but Jonah makes it sound believable. "Tomorrow, I want you to try the edible plants. Wylie can go with you." I think we all give a start at that- The standard rule has always been that tributes didn't accompany each other to the same stations, but Jonah's throwing that out the window. I doubt he doesn't know the rule; More likely he just doesn't care.

I can see Karter sneak a glance at his mentor through his bangs. Jonah gives him a little nod, and that's all it takes; His shoulders relax and he takes a bite of his potatoes. Wylie sends Jonah a smug look out of the corner of her eye, and suddenly I'm all too confused about what's happening. Before I can ask, Erika shoves her plate towards the center of the table and stands.

"I'm off to bed. Remember what I said, girlie." She sends me a particularly sharp look, and I swallow. I hate to think I've gotten on my mentor's bad side, but I'm sure that's exactly what's happened. I can only manage a faint nod in her direction, but she's already gone.

Everyone else rises from their trance; Kyle shakes his head and stands just as abruptly as our mentor did, muttering something that I'm not entirely sure is a good night. Like it's been planned, Wylie sweeps off the crumbs in her lap and slides out of her seat. "See ya, Karter. Jonah. Jangerine, Vale." She spares us a little smile before disappearing off to her own room. Soon after Karter and Jonah get up, too.

It's only Jangerine and I now. She pats her lips with a napkin and stands daintily, eyeing me. "I'd be careful around Erika, dear. You know she has a temper. If you want attention, you're looking for it in the wrong place, I'm afraid." She looks away before I can protest, and by the time I look up the soft taps of her heels against the carpet are gone.

I don't bother cleaning up my team's mess; I've done enough of that in my District. Instead, I disappear into my room like the rest, letting the door click shut behind me.

Out of nowhere, a sneer pops into my mind, and like a chain, my brain fills in the rest of the image; A hawkish nose, cold blue eyes, brown hair. There's no point trying to block the memories out this time; The face of Zane is followed by his sister's, and then by my brother's. Blood washes over my vision and all I can do is grip the knob in one hand, feeling bones grind against metal. I fumble with doorknob and hear the reassuring snick of a lock.

The fear rushes out of me like a seeping bag of flour and I let my head rest against the smooth wood of the door, taking small, hiccupping breaths through my lips and counting under my breath. _"This little piggy went to the market.."_

It's an old nursery rhyme, one I haven't remembered until now. The song is old, but I close my eyes, lifting my chin to the ceiling to murmur:

 _"This little piggy went to the market,"_

 _"This little piggy stayed home."_

 _"This little piggy had roast beef..."_ I trail off for a moment, the words lost, but just as quickly they return, and I take another quiet breath and let my voice continue its verse:

 _"..This little piggy had none."_

 _"This little piggy cried wee-wee-wee all the way home."_

I sing it twice before I let my voice falter. My pulse is even now, one hand resting against the door. I'm not a singer; My voice is a cracked whisper all the way through, rising and breaking off in all the wrong places, but the words calm me anyway. My eyes peel open slowly, and I let out a breath through my nose.

I lean against the door, tickling the wood with my fingers. I peel myself off, rocking back on my heels with a final deep breath. I haven't heard the song in years, not since I was six or seven, but it was my favorite, and it is now.

Everything will be alright. I may have an enemy, but nothing lasts forever. One of us will die, and it won't be me- Not on the first day, or the next, or ever. Not in the second arena, either. _I will win._

Instead of making the long trip to my bed, I sink to my knees, wedging myself next to the counter with the mirror. I hug my arms and let my eyes slide shut: _This little piggy went to the market.._

And for the first time since I've arrived at the Capitol, I fall asleep with hope in my mind and strength in my heart.

* * *

 **Aloha, people. So, a bit of a longer chapter. I'm pretty proud of this one, think I got everything in that I needed to. c:**

 **Remember to review or PM me, guys. Enjoy the rest of your weekend.**


	14. Chapter 14: Trial and Error

**Hi! So, I've started naming my chapters. I think it makes the story just a little bit more interesting (and I got the idea from This Is Not A Horcrux) Please check their story out, cus its awesome. The story itself is called 'Soldier On.' I promise you won't be disappointed.**

 **Make sure to review and enjoy either story (or both). Seriously though guys, check Horcrux's story out. It's flippin' amazing. One more thing..**

 **I'd like to give some thanks to Levi Busch and Guest for reviewing. Levi, I'll use your name (Because I suck at them, and that one is awesome.) Guest, thanks for the compliment. Those two simple comments made my day. Cool beans, guys.**

 **Okay, _now_ you can enjoy.**

* * *

I crouch over the ember imbedded in the debris, cupping my hands and blowing gently. The faint glow begins to expand until a flame appears- small and bright, snaking up from its nest almost shyly. I sidle closer and stir the mulch and twigs around with one finger, attempting to make it grow faster.

"Who wastes their time on _this_ station?" A low, taunting voice comes from behind me.

For a moment my mind flashes to icy blue eyes and a mop of brown hair, and I jerk back from my pile. The fire dies almost instantly, sinking back into the nest, and I curse, whipping my head over my shoulder to berate the person behind me.

"Hasn't anyone ever taught you-"

I trail off, lost for words despite all the insults I had prepared in my head. The boy from Twelve stares back at me, shrugging a shoulder almost carelessly and shooting me a lazy smile.

"Cat got your tongue?" He purrs, leaning forward to stare me right in the eye. "No? Please, continue."

I open my mouth, my lips twisting in a sneer, but just as it had before, my voice fails me. I swallow and send a glare his way, but he only returns it with a grin. I take a deep breath and tilt my chin up like I belong- Like I don't care what he thinks. "Hasn't anyone ever taught you to leave people alone when they're _working?"_

The words fall from his mouth like they're prepared. "Doesn't look like you're workin' to me, Vale." He gestures towards the nest lazily, which is completely dark except for a curl of smoke, barely wider then my pinkie, making its way towards the ceiling. It fades away almost as soon as I look at it.

Uncontrolled anger forces the next words up my throat. "We work a lot more then Twelve, don't we? You only hate _my_ fire because you have too many of your own. Coal district?" My voice turns sweet and cruel.

It's like I've flipped a switch. His eyes go hard and dark, similar to Kyle's but worse- I don't know this boy. I can practically feel the heat from his gaze, making my skin tingle and sending a chill shooting right up my spine. I suddenly want nothing more to leave; My skin goes cold, then hot, and cold again. My throat closes up, and suddenly whatever I'd wanted to say is stuck there. I can't move.

"What was that you said, Vale? Don't think I heard ya just right." He'd seemed scrawny to me before, but now he swells before my eyes, all muscle as he takes a step forward. The worst thing about it is his voice is just as silky and low as before, like a cat's purr. Even from where I am I can see his pupils dilating with something like madness.

This boy is half-insane; A mix of Zane and Kyle, my worst nightmare at best and my killer at worst. With Kyle, I know what to expect; I can sense when he's angry, and I can avoid him. Zane is cruel and large, and he's predictable, too. Arrogant. Strong. Impossible and easy to get around at the same time. The person in front of me now is nothing like that, and everything like it. One minute he's teasing, and the next he looks ready to rip my head from my shoulders. I need to leave.

These thoughts whirl through my mind at a million miles per hour, and my panic grows almost as quickly. All rational thought is abandoned- Thoughts that he can't kill me in the Training Center, or that there's an assistant watching us, who surely wouldn't let me die. _Surely?_

The tension is building around us both, and I can practically see it in the air, bolts of energy zinging between the both of us. These bolts collect and grow until they build a wall around us, and his stare is pure anger, pure energy, burning their way through my skin. It reaches a point where something inside me snaps; Something important. My lips spread in something like a growl.

Like I was made for it, my fear gives way to anger. _How dare he?_ My eyes flare to life. I can feel those nasty words tickling the back of my throat, just waiting to burst free. I'm not planning on letting him pounce first- I take a step forward, and the energy increases, lifting the hairs along the back of my neck. _Another step._

He's been watching me, waiting for me to move first; And now he rolls his shoulders and cocks his head, giving me that crooked grin. "You looked all worked up, Ten. I'ma go. Cya." With that, he turns on his heel and saunters towards the sword-fight station, whistling a tune under his breath.

* * *

I stare after him, my mouth hanging open like one of those cartoon characters. _He just_ blew _me off._ I'd been ready to fight, to finally defend myself, and he'd blown me off. _Just like that._

I'm starting to understand just how dangerous the tributes from Twelve might be. At first glance they seem all bark and no bite; Bitter and lazy, nothing more. The look I'd just been given, though, suggests something completely different.

He had gone from teasing to murderous in seconds. All it had taken was one comeback to make him snap; A few words and a glare. _If looks could kill, I'd already be dead._

I have no idea if his friends are like that, and then I realize I already have my answer. The day before, at mealtime, all I'd had to do was tease the girl- Tess- and she'd turned downright savage. Seconds later, she'd been fine, shrugging her shoulders like nothing had happened. I remember the boy, Fletcher, and wonder if he's capable of that, too.

 _It has something to do with the District._ I suppose if I lived in Twelve, where everyone was poor and the Peacekeepers were stricter then any other, I'd be bitter, too. To be a tribute for twelve, you'd have to be hardened, untrustworthy; Ready to change at any minute. Whether that change was of attitude or habitat or personality itself depended on who it was. I've never seen Tess truly angry. She's snarky and sarcastic, but never purely enraged. Nash, though, completely rewrites the definition of _split personality._

I don't know why I'm thinking about this, and overcomplicating things. The bottom line is, District Twelve is dangerous, and in more ways then one. It should be simply enough to avoid them; Fletcher seemed nice, but I doubt he'd be looking for me. I'm fairly certain Tess would rather cut out her own tongue and become an Avox then make an alliance with me. That settles it in my mind- I won't be seeing anymore of those tributes. In the arena, I won't be able to keep that promise, but I can honor it now.

I've been standing almost completely still with my thoughts, and by now the assistant is staring. Heat rushes to my cheeks and all I can do is nod a thanks before I move on to the next station.

* * *

I never thought I'd be good at camouflage, but I've been sitting here for hours, experimenting with the brush- letting it tickle my skin. I'm doing the pattern of the trees, green with small spots of beige, like the sun shining through the canopies. My eyes burn with the effort of staring at one spot for so long, but I'm almost finished.

"Have you ever painted before?" I don't glance up, but I recognize the voice of the trainer at this station. I twirl my hand and finish the last dapple of light.

"Back at home," I murmur, "I had a lot of jobs." She doesn't ask what I did, or if I want to talk about it; Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her jaw go hard, and she turns away from me. I guess we're not supposed to talk about our Districts here. I feel a burning shame run through me. I've embarrassed myself in front of a professional.

I should've started with weaponry hours ago. I rise slowly, returning the horse-hair brush to its bucket and striding towards the crossbows- I've always wanted to know what's it like to notch an arrow. I haven't thought of what weapon I'll use, not really, but I think this will be the one for me.

* * *

 _I've never been so wrong,_ I think, staring at the weapon in front of me in disgust. All my tries are on public display; Arrows in the wall, the ground, the ceiling. I'd even nicked myself on a feather on my first try, and the evidence is the thin, clean cut right on my cheek that burns a lot more then it should, considering its size.

I stare down at my hands in dismay, blisters dotting the ends of my palm where my fingers meet and the skin peeling. I have to face it: I'm just not Katniss Everdeen. I sigh and clench my hands in fists, pushing down the wave of pain and scanning the racks of weapons before me. There's so many it's difficult to decide; Endless blades at my disposal. I can't help but feel disappointed, because I was hoping for a weapon with range. I know that with my size and weight I'll be almost helpless in close combat unless I have something with long reach.

My eyes rest on the throwing knives, but I move on almost before I can think about it. To use those I'd need an endless supply of them, which I know I'll never have. Even if I could manage with only one, that would mean retrieving it every time I threw it- At a bird or the ground or another person. It would take too much time and energy.

"Try the spear," A voice goads from behind me. I crane my neck over my shoulder to see Lavenne, her head tilted and her warm brown fingers curled around a short dagger. Her brown eyes meet mine and she gives me a small smile. "Long time no see, Vale."

There's no hostility in her voice, so I return the grin. "Hey."

As if I've just insulted her, Lavenne looks away, her lips twisted in thought. I stand on my toes to get her attention, but she won't look at me. I can sense some bad vibes coming off of her- I step back, holding my hands up as if in surrender. "Lavenne?..Are you-"

"I want to start an alliance." Her eyes snap towards me and she takes a step forward. I blink, not sure if I've heard her right- And then it bursts out of her again. "With you. Ten and Eleven; Why not? We're outer Districts. We have the same range of skills. Your team doesn't have to join if they don't want to."

I'm still processing her first sentence. I shake my head slowly, a small smile on my face. "An alliance? With me? I don't know if you haven't realized, but I don't even have a choice weapon." My brow furrows.

Lavenne gives a shrug, barely meeting my eyes. It takes me a moment to realize that she's nervous. I wonder if she's been planning this for a while now and only had the courage to ask me today. I suddenly feel like a jerk for teasing.

"Hey." My voice is soft, and she looks at me, her eyes narrowed almost in suspicion. I throw another smile on my face. "You could of just asked, Lavenne. I would say yes to an alliance with you any day." I stick out my hand, and her eyes brighten. The girl before me rebuilds herself, raising her chin and squaring her shoulders. We shake hands, and her grip is firm.

"It's a pleasure to be allied with you, Vale Flemming." She dips her head towards me, and I struggle not to laugh at the pure formality of it. I swallow the giggles and return the nod, but the corners of my lips quiver with a smile.

* * *

She's gone immediately, headed off to another station. I conquer the feeling of hurt that rises inside my chest, because I know I'd do the same thing. She's only making sure we're not seen together. The less people that know about our alliance, the better; though I can only hope that she's already told her own District. If she did, I doubt they took it well.

For a moment the tributes of District 11 flash into my mind. Pell, with her fierce attitude and constant sneer. Crocus and his glowering eyes and hunched shoulders. Thist, all skinny bones and darted looks. I remember how quick Pell was to judge me when we'd first met, how Thist had treated me like a living disease, and how Crocus had barely glanced in my direction. I feel my gut sink, because I'm not sure the alliance I'd just agreed to was the best thing I'd ever done.

I mentally chide myself. The people I'm picturing now don't trust me, and it'll take a lot to ever change that. We'd been introduced, but we didn't know each other; Not what we liked, or our favored weapon, or even who each other's mentors were. I can already feel the guilt weighing on my shoulders. I hadn't thought my answer through; I should of given it a day, maybe even asked Erika. I nearly choke on my own saliva- _Erika._

I haven't even told my mentor about the alliance. What will she think when Lavenne's own mentor comes up to her to talk strategy or anything else? She'd blow her top. I could already hear her string of curses, dancing their way through my mind as if taunting me. I can't believe I'd been so stupid, so quick to agree. I hadn't used my head, not even a little bit. Erika was going to _kill_ me.

I force myself to inhale through my nose. My mentor wouldn't neccassarily kill me; Hurt me, yes, but not threaten my life. Even if she did, Jonah would stop her. _Would he?_

For about the fifth time it hits me how stupid an idea this alliance really is. I can't see Jonah accepting this, not really. He'd have wanted me to weigh my options, to be smart. I'd done almost exactly the opposite.

I realize this alliance might be over before it's even started. Not only does it have trust issues- Lavenne's team doesn't trust me, and I certainly can't see Kyle agreeing to this, either. Karter and Wylie, maybe, but not Smith. I hadn't consulted my mentor or Jonah about it, and I can't forget Jangerine. She was going to have cardiac arrest when she heard of this.

I'm wasting time. Just as I'm about to follow Lavenne's advice, a bell sounds, sending me staggering back. The women's voice from yesterday booms from invisible speakers:

"'Xuse me, tributes. If you'd all gather in the center? Training begins now." Just like that the audio turns off. I glance around in confusion; We've been training for hours. Maybe it was a glitch? I would of dismissed it if I hadn't seen other tributes already striding towards the middle of the room. I shake my head slowly and trail after them, half annoyed and half surprised- Even a little excited. I have no idea what they've got in store with us, but it must be important.

Forty-eight tributes gather in a ragtag circle more or less in the center of the room. It's shocking how different we all look; slight builds and strong ones, blue eyes and brown. I spot Wylie in the swell of the crowd, and she glances at me from the corner of her eye and gives a little side-smile. I return it, but try as I might, Karter and Kyle are no where to be seen.

"Took you all long enough." I have to peer over the shoulders of the people in front of me to see our trainer, and even then she's barely visible. She peers at us over the top of her nails, her lips curled in a sneer. Even with that ugly expression, though, she's plenty beautiful.

By now we've all gone silent. The women in front of us narrows her eyes, straightening to her full height. Dark hair flows down one shoulder and curls behind her ears.

"For this Quarter Quell, the Capitol has requested we try something...New. New as in simulated training. Before you all start whining, yes, we've had this before. However, _this_ time, your training will be graded."

Protests rise from the crowd. She holds up one pale white hand, her dark eyes flashing, and it's like a spell. Quiet settles over the room.

"Let me continue," She hisses. "First things first, you'll be going through a trial, or an obstacle course. The scene will differ for every tribute; some of you will get a desert, or a tundra, or a river. In this course you'll be able to feel exhaustion, thirst, and pain, but once we unplug you, all your injuries or symptoms will disappear. We'll be able to see what you're seeing, hear what you hear. Basically, a well-crafted illusion."

I feel my pulse skip a beat. Deserts? Rivers? No one had ever seen such things- No one in this room, at least. We'd read about them, we'd heard of them, but we'd never _visited_ them. I'm surprised that the Capitol would make such a stupid move, letting their tributes see beyond Panem; All that will encourage is the thirst for freedom, for curiosity. I can see that the people around me are thinking the same thing; Shoulders tense and weight shifts as we all look at each other. _Beyond Panem..._

Our wonder is short-lived. The woman hasn't seemed to notice the sudden change in environment. "This is how the training is going to work. You'll be put in a separate room. You will have one simulated partner and two rounds. In this first part, you will not feel pain. You'll get to choose your weapon. There will be a glass wall isolating you from the audience." Her lips close, and I realize she's expecting questions. There's none though- Tributes lean forward, muttering and shoulder-bumping their acquaintances, but no one is directly inquiring her.

She shrugs, and I have a feeling she doesn't care one way or another. Her voice booms again, and the chattering turns off immediately. "The second part of your training will be more.. difficult." I don't like the say she says that, or the way a ghost of a smirk dances on her lips. "You'll be fighting a real person; Not me, but the assistants assembled at each of the stations. Do not underestimate them. Remember, since they're real, you _will_ feel pain."

I feel fear, cold and quick, shoot up my spine. I've already decided that I'm not good at close-ranged combat- I'll get myself killed. I've never even been in a real fight before. It only gets worse, though. I feel my heart sinking lower and lower which each word she utters.

"You will not be able to choose your weapon for the second part of training. It's randomized, so we won't know, either." She glares at us through her lashes. "The second part of training is seventy percent of your score. This year, you will not be called up to the sponsors' room. _This_ will be your test. The highest you can get is a twelve, as usual." She pauses, as if remembering something, and her eyes shine. "Because of the.. _Special_ turns we're taking this Games, we will also be adding an extra day to training." My mouth actually drops open at those last few words. They're literally changing everything; The sponsors' room, the time limit, the process. I can't believe the Capitol would go so far. I'd known things would be extraordinary for the Quarter Quell, but this was purely overdoing it.

I realize with a sort of sick feeling in my stomach that this is only to eliminate the weak tributes. All us bad fighters will get scores of one or two, and then we'll never get sponsors; We're out of the way. The Capitol is getting smarter and smarter. The extra day doesn't do anything for us, either, except to put us through more of this brutal training. I'm liking this idea less and less.

This can't possibly get any worse. Without sponsors, I'm good as dead in the arena. Even trying my hardest I doubt I'd get higher then a six. I've jinxed myself, though; The next words she speaks leaves me light-headed.

"We start now."

* * *

With a mix of shock and horror I study the woman in front of me, waiting for her to smirk or laugh or tell us all this is one big joke. Of course, none of these things happen. She strides right through the still crowd, barking orders. "We're going alphabetically. A-Z. Abelle, you're first." A shock ripples through the crowd almost physically; We've only ever ordered things by District. To do this alphabetically would be breaking yet another tradition.

Our trainer either doesn't know or care- Probably the latter. The girl she's called is short and stick-thin, with round hazel eyes and a nest of dirty blonde hair. She goes white, then gives a little shake of her head, like she knows she has no choice. Abelle steps forward slowly, and we all part for her, a vast sea pushing back on either side until she has an entire aisle ahead of her.

The girl swallows, taking a hesitant step forward. I feel horrible for her, and it only increases when I remember that I'll be going through that soon, too. My last name begins with F, so I'm pretty high on the list. At least I'm not first. At least I have something to go on. That's what I tell myself, anyway. I have to block out all other thoughts or I'll pass out.

The woman that's been talking spins on her heel and starts forward. At first, I think that she only wants Abelle to follow, but tributes start trailing after her. I bring up the end of the parade, my head down. I'm biting hard on my lower lip so it doesn't tremble.

We all gather in front of a smooth pane of glass that's so clear the only reason I knew when to stop was because I was watching the people around me. The trainer steps right through, and the glass ripples and expands around her like gel. As soon as she and Ava are through, it closes again. I see someone lean forward to touch it, but its as solid as ever.

The woman's voice is completely audible, even through the glass wall. "First is the simulated course. Hold still..." I can't imagine the girl moving anyway; She's quivering, her skin pearly white and her eyes round and innocent. Our trainer fixes a helmet onto her head; Completely black with glass just as opaque and complicated-looking wires and gadgets poking out of the sides. It curves up her nose and stops under her eyes so only her nose, lips, and cheeks are visible.

The trainer walks backwards and melts through the glass again. Like she's a disease, tributes part for her, until there's a two-meter circle surrounding her on all sides except for her front. She looks mighty satisfied, too, resting one slim hand on her hip and tilting her head. I don't realize she's counting until she gets to four.

"...Three, two, one." To my astonishment, the tribute- Abelle- rises into the air. She's floating, her arms extended to either side and her feet dangling. She looks completely relaxed, her lips thin and flat. I can't see her eyes through the helmet no matter how hard I strain my own.

I can only hope I don't look as shocked as I feel, which is a lot. I've never seen technology so advanced; Since my District represents livestock, we're not used to things like this. I prefer a heavy, bulging screen and a knife; Both are simple and familiar. What's in front of me is almost fantasy. I wonder how much the Capitol has already spent on this Games.

I have a feeling they'll be interesting- and terrifying. If they were going far enough to spend this much on training, I didn't want to know how over-the-top the arena would be. It was funny, thinking they were doing this all for us knowing that forty-six wouldn't live to tell about it. I have to correct myself as quickly as possible- They're not doing this for us. They're doing it for the tributes, for the entertainment. The more, the merrier. Suddenly my mood plummets even lower then before.

Even with the change of attitude I can't help the strangled gasp that rises in my throat when the screen behind Ava lights up. Golden strands of light play across the room before us, twirling through her hair and sticking to her uniform. At random times they'll grow or shrink, twisting in the air, and then burst into dozens of pixelated specks.

A run-down forest materializes on the back wall, and Ava's body shimmers out of existence. Some tributes are already starting forward, looking shocked and angry, but our trainer holds up that same pale hand and we all stop almost immediately. I can barely hear her voice over the chirping of birds in trees and the crunch of grass.

I have to do a double-take. _Grass? We're in the Training Center._ My eyes fix on the screen again, and I have to physically put a hand over my mouth to stop the yelp this time. I don't even register that I've missed whatever our trainer said.

We're seeing through someone's eyes, that much I can tell. The view is shaky and I can hear rough panting from somewhere around me. The sky is cornflower blue, but only patches of it are visible through the trees- trees tall as Capitol buildings and wide around as six men. They arch into the sky, their branches swaying and creaking in the wind.

The screen swings back down to whatever's in front of us; A worn down, cobblestone path almost overrun with weeds and grime. Old tombstones jut from the ground here and there as if they were placed there randomly.

Abelle starts forward, and gravel and dry dirt crunch beneath her shoes. She lifts one arm, as if in a daze, and her uniform is visible. I wonder if she knows that this is all an illusion- a simulation, to be more specific. I don't think she does. I can hear her breath catch in a little hiccup, then even out again. She takes another step and breaks into a jog. The view is so shaky, what with her bouncing up and about, that I'm starting to feel queasy. I avert my eyes.

That's a mistake. When I look up again, there's a scream, and view tilts drastically to one side as if a camera has tipped over. All I can make up is wild growling, a flash of silver and gold, a black blur, streaked with red- And the screen goes dark, melting back into the regular scene of a metal wall.

Ava's body blinks into existence and she crumples to the ground, her helmet rolling off with the slow, tortured sound of glass on metal. Her body is almost completely still, and I take an involuntarily step back, my head spinning and bile rising in my throat. I clutch my chest with one hand, as if my heart is failing me, but no one notices. They're all staring, mouths open and brows furrowed and heads tilted. It would be comical if I wasn't about to vomit.

Our trainer shakes her head and murmurs a curse under her breath, slipping through the glass. She speed-walks over to the girl and kneels, pressing a finger to her neck. When that doesn't seem to work, she curls her fingers around her shoulder and jerks her forward a few times. There's a stony silence.

Ava's eyes fly open and she sits straight up, her hair messier then ever and her skin almost green. The woman lets out a sigh of relief, then turns her gaze to all of us.

"This girl has failed. Zero out of twenty percent for her first grade." Her eyes lock on Ava's, and we can all hear her hiccupping sobs. She lifts one elbow to cover her face, her shoulders shaking and her head on her knees. Already her sleeve is soaked, and there's a puddle the size of a quarter at her feet.

There's no sympathy in our trainer's eyes, and her voice is flat: "That simulation was to last six hundred seconds. You made it to seventeen." She stands, and I note that she doesn't bother to help the girl up. "We will continue tomorrow."

* * *

We all spill out of the room relatively calmly, but the number of people itself is so large I have to weave through to make it to the door. I'm just slipping out into the hallway when I feel something nip my fingers.

I yank my hand in front of me and whip my head over my shoulder with an animalistic snarl- And the girl behind me scuttles backwards, her eyes wide. "I-I'm sorry. I just wanted to- I shouldn't of-"

It feels like the tenth time today I feel like a complete bully. I let the snarl die on my lips and turn to face her fully- I'm a full foot taller then her. She looks to be twelve, maybe thirteen.

"I was just surprised, that's all." I say the words slowly, attempting to be as nonthreatening as possible. Her eyes are filled with wariness, though, and I guess exactly which District she's from a moment before it passes her lips. "I'm from Twelve. I- I mean- That's not my name. I'm Cecelia. Sorry I scared you." The last words come out a lot quieter, and she darts me a sheepish look. I don't even bother to _pretend_ to be angry.

"Well, Cecelia, what did you want?" I realize how rude that sounds and stumble over my words trying to correct it. "I mean- What did you want to say? I'm Vale." My last words are randomly placed, and we both know it- Her cheeks go pink. I think she's trying to force down giggles, but she's horrible at it. I give her a half-amused, half-embarrassed grin.

Just as quickly as the laughing starts, her lips close, and she sends me a wide-eyed, almost horrified look. I send her a puzzled one back. Did I have something on my face? I can already feel the heat creeping up my neck.

"You're the girl- Your brother- 90th Hunger Games!" She squeaks out.

That's all she has to say for me to wrench my gaze away from hers, spin on my heel, and march out of the Training Center fast enough that she can't see the tears spilling down my cheeks.

* * *

 **Kon'nichiwa! Sorry, this was a long/overdue/slightly hectic chapter. I wanted to get more in on Cecelia, but the chapter was already getting pretty long. Sorry for that abrupt ending, too.**

 **Anyway, guys, semi-crappy chapter. Don't forget to review, though, even if it is for criticism.**

 **Souls, out!**


	15. Chapter 15: Try, Try Again

**Hey...So, I've been lazy for the past two days. I won't lie, I haven't even started this chapter and it's been two days since Chapter 14. I have an idea of what I'm doing now, though (Mostly because of Soldier On.)  
I wanna say this again, guys. Please check out This Is Not A Horcrux's story. The story itself is called Soldier On. It's about a girl named Briar Kinross who is entered in the 76th (is it 76th?) Hunger Games with double the tributes. It is an ****_amazing_** **read. The characters, the thinking, the description, is all purely..Awesome. Seriously, take a look at it.**

 **Enjoy, guys.**

* * *

There's the _whoosh_ of an axe swinging through the air and the tribute from Four springs backwards, twisting in the air and landing on his feet. He dances back and forth like that, lunging and twirling and slicing. The assistant fights back with just as much skill, leaping over sword swings and blocking them with complicated angles of his axe handle. Golden dots, like pixels, dance around them, splitting apart and swerving to avoid the sharp metal. The assistant swings his double-bladed weapon one last time.

The tribute- Dace- responds by throwing himself into the air, stepping off of the axe, and flipping straight over his opponent's head. He lands in a crouch, whirls on one heel, and lets the cold tip of his blade dig into the assistant's lower back.

I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding, trying to stop the shivers. I'm just about to turn away when I hear a grunt and the zing of steel slicing through the air.

My eyes snap back up to what I'm certain is a finished duel, but they're at it again, lunging and turning and swinging with all their might. The more they fight, the faster I can feel the bile rising in my throat. Bit by bit, any excitement or even confidence I'd had about this exercise was spiraling away into some deep, dark pit at the bottom of my soul.

The woman warned us not to underestimate these assistants, and she was right. I watch with a sort of detached fascination as Dace's opponent charges towards him, his arms and legs pumping and head lowered. I can see the muscles rippling throughout his entire body as he runs, and I can almost imagine the vibrations of his steps resounding throughout the room.

Dace spins into another crouch and swings out his leg with impeccable timing. The assistant doesn't have time to catch himself- He pitches forward onto his face, and the axe spins from his hands, skidding meters away. Dace doesn't hesitate, pressing one foot to the beginning of his spinal cord and leveling the sword at his back yet again.

His opponent grunts and rolls, sending his attacker off balance- The tribute's arms fly out instinctively and I watch as, in slowmotion, he too falls. He attempts to spin and catch himself, but that only makes gravity pull at him faster

I never knew someone could recover so quickly. His opponent is already there, catching him by one arm and jerking him forward, his own sword pressing right into his Adam's Apple. The artificial light catches the sweat shining on his neck, the way it moves and convulses with something like panic, and I have to wrench my gaze away. He's not hurt, not really, but it's still disturbing to watch.

I hear the thump of a body hitting the floor and tentatively crane my neck back over my shoulder. Dace lays on the ground, stunned, his head lolling and his lips opening and closing. It's pretty obvious he's had the breath knocked out of him. His sword bounces off his chest and falls to his side. His opponent scans him almost pitifully, then reaches out one long arm to help him up.

I know what will happen a moment before it does. Dace's own arm shoots up and he grips the assistant's hand until it goes white. My eyes grow round, but I can't look away, not as he flips his opponent onto his back hard enough that I can hear the crack of bones.

I feel sick all over again, and this time I really do have to turn away, cupping my mouth to hold back the sobs. What I've just seen is both the best and the worst thing I've ever seen, and I don't know why. It doesn't make me feel any better.

And then something shoves past me and I have to look again. The woman has melted through the glass and she stands between both fallen tributes, her lips curled in a sneer that's almost disappointed. I can't imagine why, since I don't think I could of put up any better of a fight.

She doesn't help them up, maybe because she doesn't want to be judo-flipped. Instead she rolls her shoulders like _she's_ the one who's triumphed, and her voice is clear and hard: "This match is a tie. Dace Alonzo, your score is a nine out of twelve. You have an overall grade of ten out of twelve." She claps her hands, and I stagger back as the glass before me goes dark.

* * *

A little over ten people complete their trials before I realize that I'm next in line- Not that we're in one.

All of the tributes are sort of scattered, but there's a grouping to it, one of social class. Careers chat with Careers, outer Districts stick to themselves, and everyone in between sort of just mingle. I stand alone somewhere at the front of the crowd, but thankfully the room's not so full that I'm pressed against the glass or anything. I haven't bothered to find anyone I know; Not Lavenne, or Wylie, or Kyle, and definitely not Nash. Instead, I gnaw on my lip and hunch my shoulders, peering in front of me and trying my best not to draw too much attention. Nothing lasts forever, though. _And speak of the devil._

The skin on my nape tingles, like someone's watching me or approaching me, and I crane my neck over my shoulder only to swallow a strangled yelp. Nash is striding towards me, sliding through the crowd like he's actually water, his shoulders slumped and his expression relaxed, maybe even amused. I don't let that fool me, though. I remember a hot, burning glare, a snarl- _What was that, Vale?_ And then a laugh- and silence- as he retreated.

I feel something like anger rise in my chest. Here he was, starting towards me like we were old friends, when only yesterday he'd intimidated me almost to the point of cardiac arrest. I force those memories to my mind again, though; I didn't want to have an outburst like the one that had started the entire thing. Instead, I cross my arms and let my shoulders slump, my gaze trailing him as he makes his way through the people around us. I drift off easily, though, and by the time my vision comes back into focus he's right in front of me. I try not to flinch when he speaks.

"Long time no see, Vale. Looks like you're next, huh?" He tilts his head back and laughs, and my stomach flips because its the kind of laugh that makes you want to trust someone. I can't afford that, so I glare at my shifting feet.

There's a pause before I speak. "Yeah, I guess." This time when I feel my gut twist I know it's out of pure nervousness. I don't want to fight, or to do anything physical, really. If they'd ask me to run a lap or name all the poisonous herbs in a forest, I'd do both willingly. But not this.

I think he senses my discomfort because when he next speaks, his voice is almost soft. "You'll be fine. The first one is just an obstacle course; You'll probably get a tundra or something. Then you just have to fight the pixelated one. It's just like regular training. You don't even get hurt."

I bite down a certain retort and glare at him through my bangs. "Yeah, and what about the third part? We both know I won't win, _Nash._ I can't even choose my weapon. I'm dead meat." I don't know why his name comes out so harsh, like its an insult, but it does. His lips twist and he averts his eyes, and I feel panic closing my throat, but the mood is over just as quickly as it's started. He peers at me from the corner of his eye and gives me a smirk that's nearly comforting.

"Hey, if she can do it, you can." He waves his hand towards whoever's fighting, and her name pops into my head as soon as I spot her rich hair and blue eyes- Marbline Evertide. She's a devil, twisting and whirling and slashing with her curved daggers like there's no tomorrow. I think she's the fastest out of all of us. I watch as she kicks off her opponent, back flips, and sends a knife spinning towards his face. He leans backwards almost impossibly far and it thunks against the back wall. I squeeze my eyes shut. I can't throw nearly as far or fast, and I wouldn't of been able to dodge that, either. _And this is only practice._

I've forgotten all about the boy in front of me. His smile has died and he's staring at me, his brows pinched, but I can't seem to read his expression. I'm bad at these things.

I'm about to say something, maybe an apology or just to ask for advice, but a clear voice rings throughout the room, cutting straight through mine.

"Vale Flemming!"

Panic hits me, quick and hard, and my head whips towards Nash. My mouth is dry and sweat has broken out all along my body, so I don't know what I'm going to say, but I need to get something, anything, through my lips. He's saved me the effort, though; I can't find him, not with my ears or my eyes.

A hand that's strong but slim at the same time curls around my left arm and begins to drag me forward. For a moment I want to kick and scream, to shake my head and throw a tantrum, but I remember just in time that all the other tributes are watching. It's hard, but I smooth my expression into a mask of calm and straighten. Just to make myself feel better, I pull my arm from whoever's grabbed me and step through the glass.

It's an odd feeling, like being submerged in cool goo- I don't move any slower, but I can feel it against my skin. Then I'm through, and I instinctively jerk back as one of those pixels zings across my vision.

"Stay still." The voice that I've unconsciously muted is back, sharp and loud in my ears. I freeze in place, which isn't difficult, and close my eyes. I can't hear the shift of metal, but I imagine the opaque mask spinning before my face. It's more out of entertainment then anything; I'm only trying to push back the panic that's welling in my eyes, my throat, and my chest. I can feel my pulse all the way down to my fingertips.

Something cool and light rests just in front of my eyes, tickling my lashes and my cheeks. I let my gaze slip open, but everything is still just as dark, and I figure the mask is already fixed to my face. It comforts me, somehow, the darkness; Makes me feel more alone. Maybe that shouldn't be a good thing, but to me, it's a lot better then being criticized and jeered at by forty-seven other tributes.

My body goes numb and I feel my limbs relax and go limp, one by one. Suddenly there's nothing solid beneath my toes, not that I can feel, and I imagine I'm just beginning to rise into the air.

Even through the mask I can see the little strings of golden light zipping and twirling through the air. My hearing is dull, and I don't try to sort out whichever sounds bounce around inside my skull. Finally I feel my body go weightless, which is such an amazing feeling that I let a sigh pass through my lips and I tilt my head back. With my vision dark, I can imagine I'm anywhere but here, in Panem; I'm over the walls of our Districts, where there's nothing but bliss. Forests and water, sunlight and snow. Gurgling streams and floating patches of ice.

The vision becomes so real that I can feel the sand beneath my feet, almost past my boots, molding and shifting beneath me as if it's alive. Golden sunlight washes over me, lifting the darkness under my eyelids and sending warmth shooting throughout my body. Wind that's almost hot lifts my hair, sending it twirling and dancing over my head until it feels silky, untangled, natural. I've never felt a breeze so extraordinary, and it brings a laugh past my lips; Lips that are chapped and peeling, but that doesn't matter, because everywhere else is simply perfect.

I feel my ears pop, but that's okay, too.

The voice that shoots through my brain, though, is not.

I lift a hand to cover my ear, trying to wish the unwanted sounds away, but it doesn't help. All I can catch is "-Gins now!" And then a screech so loud that I have to bend over and let out a sort of gasp. This wasn't the vision I wanted. This wasn't supposed to _happen._

It all rushes towards me in one huge wave, sending my mind spinning. I wasn't in a vision- This was the simulated part of my grade, and I was in a desert. The hot winds, the beating sun, the sand shifting beneath my boots was all pixelated and all completely real at the same time. I remember that I'm being watched, criticized, even, and I force myself to straighten. I can't melt down now, not in the first thirty seconds. I won't be the girl from before- Ava Abelle, I think. I can't afford to be that much of a failure.

I don't even feel bad for calling her that, just desperate to get a nice score. I have to squint to take stock of my surroundings.

All my fantasies are here, but worse. The sand is scorching and dry, trickling into the gap between my suit and the flap of the boots. The wind is just as hot and merciless, whipping across my face only to sting like a wasp. My hair already feels heavy with sweat, and sand swirls through the air, sticking to my clothes and my lips and bowing into my eyes.

Being in a desert, the air should of been humid and still- In my opinion- but it's exactly the opposite, dry enough to suck all traces of moisture from my body. It's moving, too, swirling around me and kicking sand and dust into the air. I spit out a few grains of the stuff and take a step forward. I wonder if I'm the first to get this habitat, but I can't be sure. I hadn't paid much attention to the tributes before me.

I'm sure it's completely irrational, but it occurs to me that if this is a simulation, all I have to do is think my way out of it. I try my best, squeezing my eyes shut and wishing myself away to District 10, or my room, or even the Training Center itself. The result is like when people say cold is mental- No matter how hard I strain my brain, the wind is just as hot and painful, the sand just as uncomfortable. The sun that had seemed so beautiful and innocent before is now almost blood-red, and every ray of light it throws at me is so infused with heat that I think I'm going to get sunburn- Something I've only ever heard of.

"Stop screwing around, Vale," I mutter out loud, and the arena replies by throwing a mouthful of sand at my face. I blink it out of my eyes and mutter something unpleasant.

I can't afford to think any more. Instead, I force myself to take one dragging step through the sand, and then another. Somewhere in the back of my mind I imagine how completely pathetic this must look, and how much laughter is being thrown around at my expense because I'm talking to myself. The thought only brings another wave of self-pity, and then dread, and my footsteps grow heavier. I can't help but think that this is pointless, and that overall, my life sucks.

I remember our trainer, with her dark, flowing hair and milky white skin. Beauty really does hide evil intentions, then. I don't have time to be bitter about that particular thought; I find myself remembering her words, about an obstacle course. I don't see any obstacles except for the nature around me, but I can't do anything about that. I wonder if this is my simulated training, dragging myself through sand and trying to ignore the sweat that's already succeeded in sticking every piece of clothing I have to my skin. _I'm a laughing stock._

It's pointless, but as I walk, I wonder if the arena depends on the tribute's strengths or weaknesses. I've never experienced sun as hot as this, and I've never touched sand in my life, so I'm at a major disadvantage. And if the obstacle courses are based on skill, then I must have zero. _This really isn't helping my mood._

I wish that I had been prepared, or that I knew what was coming. The farther I travel, though, the more relaxed I can feel myself becoming. My shoulders slump. My knees bend. It's already occurred to me a thousand times that I've already failed this test; I can barely walk, and my throat is now too dry for me to even talk to myself. I've come to the conclusion that the obstacles are based on a tribute's skill, or even worth, and since I have none, my score is _one._ Nothing higher, nothing lower. Just one.

And then I realize that if my grade is so low, I really have no reason to keep going. I'll only keep tripping over my own feet and making myself look more and more pathetic, though I hope I've reached my limit. I let a sigh part through my lips, but that's a mistake. Hot wind and sand alike swirl into my mouth, forcing their way down my throat and making my insides scratchy and dry. I nearly choke, but the feeling doesn't last, because I have no saliva left.

I let myself drop to my knees, ignoring the sand blowing into my eyes and ears. I'm not capable of moving any farther; It's simply to hard. _I give up._

The words bring an odd sense of peace to mind. It's that I've known all this time, I think. I'm not cut out to be a tribute. I'd even said it the day I'd been reaped, but that sentence had been ignored, even by myself. That wasn't the case now.

My eyes are just drifting shut when the ground beneath me explodes.

* * *

I barely move back in time to avoid being skewered- Sand spins through the air as if being spewed by an invisible fountain, and the sun glances off every grain, throwing beams into my eyes. I can't help but cry out, but that only invites the dust down my throat.

I'm gagging all over again, but by now, it's over. My knees feel slippery and when I look down, they're smeared with blood; My uniform is ripped. Sand sticks to the scrapes, making it sting like salt in a wound. I moved back too fast- I'd heard of rope-burn, and I'm almost certain there's such a thing as sand-burn, too. If there is, this is certainly it.

I haven't been paying attention, not in the least. My gaze trails upward and I feel all the sand from earlier forming a lump in my throat. My lips fall open.

I've never been good with measurements, but the wall before me is definitely taller then I am. It's made entirely of clay, and I can see sand has already wormed its way into the cracks so that the entire structure looks like it's made of brick. There shouldn't be rope in the desert, I don't think, but two long strings of it trail the sand, stirring up small clouds of dust, and loop over the other side of the wall. It's more then obvious that this is part of the test- And if I were from another District, it would be easier.

But I'm from Ten, where it's all gray farmland and green grass and blue skies. The closest thing we have to a tree in our District is a blueberry bush. _I've never learned to climb in my life._

I remember my theory earlier, about this simulation being based on individual strengths and weaknesses. It had been a simple guess, really, and I hadn't known how important it would be until now. Suddenly this illusion feels a lot more real then it should, and I feel that heavy weight of hopelessness settle on my shoulders again.

I've been standing here, and I can't imagine my trainer is pleased. Just when I'm about to start moving, a voice booms throughout the desert even though there should be no echo: "This is your first Obstacle. Climb the wall and continue."

I really don't like her tone- Bossy, like her wish is my command. Technically, that's true, but I push that thought all the way out of my mind. I'm just about to shout back, _And what if I don't?_ When I hear a hiss behind me. It's loud, like a cat's, but so much more sinister that I feel the hairs on the back of my neck shoot straight up. I'm almost afraid to turn my head over my shoulder.

I do it anyway, and there they are- Snakes, each the size of a stray dog, light brown with markings red as blood trailing down their hoods in the shape of diamonds. Their eyes are almost human, oval-shaped with wide pupils and un-snake-like colors like gray and green. Then they hiss again, that awful sound like all the evil in the world combined. I feel myself grow dizzy and I stagger back. Sand shifts beneath my boots, nearly tripping me, but I catch myself against the wall.

They began to slither towards me, moving through the sand like it's water, but all I can see are their eyes- Fixed right on me, blank and dead, sloped at just the wrong angle so they look almost funny. I change my mind just as quickly when that unearthly hiss resounds through the air again.

I should of been moving hours ago. I wrench my gaze away from theirs and curl my fingers around the first rope. My palms are slippery with sweat, and I have to grip it with both hands.

The hissing gets louder, and I scramble for a foothold on the second rope- It's only a foot or two away. I feel the ridged heels of my shoe catch on a string, and I hoist myself upward. I'm hanging almost sideways, one foot on the second rope and both hands gripping the first for dear life. My left foot is still free, though, and it dangles beneath me almost lifelessly, swayed back and forth by the hot winds.

I struggle to pull myself upward, but I've never had much upper body strength. Instead of boosting myself farther up the wall, I slip down a centimeter or two. My fingers slip and slide on the rope as if it's made of slime and not string. I feel panic swell in my chest and try again, but this time I'm stuck.

There's nothing like adrenaline to get a person running, though. The first snake lunges for my foot and I snap it upward, just out of reach. Now I'm balancing both feet on one lump in the rope, and it gives me time to get my balance. I can feel my heart beating hard against my chest as I lift one arm for the next notch in the rope.

My fingers find it quickly enough, and I pull my body upwards. It's surprisingly easy for me to scramble to the top, but I haven't thought of how wide the wall really is; I topple over, crashing all the way down to the other side. I land on my back, the hot sand digging into my shoulder blades, trying to gain whatever breath I've lost. I'm nearly sobbing for air.

I remember that I'm being graded on this and I roll onto my stomach with a moan. Even with the motivation I have now it takes me a few moments to crawl to my knees and then my feet.

I'm whacked down again by something heavy and fast, smashing into my side and whipping away. I only catch a blur of green before I double over with a yelp. A pain that radiates throughout my body like fire stings my ribcage, and I can't tell if I've been punctured or not; I'm still gasping for air and trying to quell the heat that's bloomed on the entire right side of my torso.

It comes again, but this time it's on the opposite side- I stagger to my left and barely avoid it. The tips of whatever it is still catch the fabric of my uniform, though, and as if by magic three thin, red lines appear where there was once cloth.

It's stupid, but I finally realize that this is part of my training. I throw myself backwards as another of the _things_ whooshes inches from my face. I have to start moving.

I force myself forward one step, then another, and break into a sort of jog. It's not easy work- I spin this way and that, leaping over what seem to be spiked clubs and generally trying my best not to get skewered. At one point I have to actually throw myself into the sand- I could of ducked, but maybe my brain just doesn't work that way. Now I'm crawling forward, wincing at each scrape and shift of the sand beneath me. It's hot as melted steel.

The grains beneath my fingers shake, and I stare at my hand in amazement. It's vibrating. I wonder if it has something to do with the heat, or maybe blood pressure, but I'm not sure. Then there's a rushing sound beneath me, and I roll myself to the side just to avoid a geyser of pure blazing sand.

My vision is blurry and my throat feels like it's been filled with a spoonful of spice; It's hot and itchy, dry and choked at the same time. I clench my neck with one hand and my hair with the other, pushing it out of my eyes and gagging. The last grains of sand drift past around me, but I barely notice. I'm trying not to die of heat- I wonder if that's a thing. It's certainly never happened in Ten.

 _Training._ The shaking comes again, this time with a roar; The dull kind that means something big and loud is scary is close. I scramble forward on all fours like a rat, then extend my arms in the most awkward leap in history to land just a few inches in front of me. Whatever space I've gained has saved me, though; Another fountain of sand, this one even hotter then the first, explodes from the ground. The particles are small and sizzling, biting their way into my skin. I lower my head and move forward blindly, because the last thing I want is to get this stuff in my eyes.

Except I've forgotten all about whatever had been whacking me earlier. One slams into my side with the weight of a train, and I can see the spots dance in my vision. I keel over onto the sand, however hot it is, clenching my ribcage with both hands. My lips open to scream, or curse, or at least express my pain, but nothing comes out. The breath has been knocked out of me. My chest is tight and my right side- or is it my left?- Feels like it's been trickled with lava. My eyes burn, with sand or tears I can't tell. My lips are already dry and so is my mouth.

I don't even have time to think that maybe another geyser is below me right now; Maybe I'm about to be blown into little flaming pieces, just like the sand around me. I'm too dizzy. Too tired. Too hurt in general.

The scene before me melts away.

* * *

 **Omg, I have been _so_ lazy. I'm sorry, guys. I've been posting at about .1 speed for the last...Three weeks? It's the Thanksgiving break, I swear. It's draining my intelligence..If I ever had any?  
** **Heh, kidding. Anyway, what happened to Vale? Will she really get blown up? I mean, probably not, but you never know..What will she wake up to? Is she even asleep? What more can that cruel trainer throw at her?**

 **Okay, I'm done playing the cliffhanger-then-ask-questions-to-torture-my-readers game. Make sure to review and check out Soldier On, guys. And I hope you have a great Thanksgiving.**


	16. Chapter 16: Third Trial's The Charm?

**I'm starting this chapter November 22nd, but I don't know if I'll turn it in today. I'm telling you guys when I'm beginning to write each chapter so then you can pester me and remind me how lazy I've been..Say I turn this in November 30th. If I do, (Which I won't, though I can't promise) You all can tell me what a failure I am and just how much intelligence I've lost in the past five days.**

 **One more thing! Skyheart033: Thanks! Seriously, that kind of comment makes my day, and I'm glad you're enjoying the story! And yeah, the training twist sounded pretty cool when I thought of it. It's just a way to make my story different from the original book, y'know?**

 **Anyways, guys, make sure to review and check out that story I told y'all about- Soldier On. With all that out of the way, enjoy!**

* * *

The sky disappears first. It had been blue before, but now patches of it are disappearing, just blinking out of existence as if they've been erased. Soon it's all gone, even the sun, replaced by inky black streaked with gold. I feel the hot sand beneath me dissolving slowly, until I'm laying on something- Or I'm not. I feel suspended.

The wind on my face and ears has disappeared, and though I tense myself, the obstacles are gone, too. Everything is dark, as if I'm wearing a visor. My head spins with the sudden change of scene. _Where?.._

A voice cuts through my thoughts like a sword. "Vale Flemming, District Ten of Livestock. Time, seven minutes' four seconds."

I take a moment to process that, and slowly, the fog in my mind clears. I was back in the Training Center, surely. I feel myself kick into gear again. _Seven minutes._

I'm not sure if this is good or bad. My time in there had certainly not felt like seven minutes, but I'm not good with time, either. As much as I know about measurements like this I could of been there for two weeks or four hours.

The simulation helmet slides off my face with a will of its own and twirls in the air once before disappearing. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the bright flashes of light before me, but I manage. The first thing I spot is my trainer.

I can't tell if she looks proud or indifferent. Her lips are in something like a smirk, or maybe a frown, and her brow is knit ever so slightly. She's studying me like a scientist would study a new species; Like I'm a tool, something to be reviewed and dissected. I suppress a shudder and avert my gaze as quickly as possible- I can already feel my cheeks burning. I've never been good with stare-offs like this.

I'm ashamed of myself, but my eyes won't rise to meet my fellow tributes'. I don't want to see their expressions- I'm completely uncertain if they'll sport faces of anger, or pity, or laughter. I don't want to disappoint them or make myself look weak, but I suppose it's too late for that now. I laugh under my breath, a short bark that really is more bitter then happy. My trainer shoots me an odd look, then shrugs and half-turns to face her audience.

"And now for the simulated combat. Vale-" She glances over her shoulders, her eyes like daggers- "You will be given a weapon of your choice. Depending on your training score, we'll spawn a pixelated opponent who you will fight and defeat in under two minutes. You will not feel pain, but you are not invincible." She pauses, as if choosing her words. "This trial will be a mix of reality and illusion. If your opponent strikes a move that, in an arena, would fatally wound you or force you into submission, we will count that as one point off- Or two, depending on the situation. Again, the highest score is a twelve."

I don't trust myself to speak around the lump of fear and anxiety in my throat, so I nod instead and fix my gaze on my boots. I can feel at least a dozen pairs of eyes burning holes in my skull, but I don't look up. I'm simply too afraid to.

* * *

My opponent dives towards me with a knife made entirely of pixelated golden threads- I lunge to one side, less with grace and more with pure adrenaline, and drive my baton into their gut. There's a pause, and I close my eyes just in time to shield them from the mini explosion of golden dots, which race through the air in different directions and then fade out of existence.

I'm not entirely sure why I chose the baton. I suppose it's bad planning on my part; I'd wanted a weapon with long reach; But really, my options were limited. A spear was too long, and even if it wasn't heavy, it'd take a certain amount of skill to wield. I've never aimed any sort of projectile before, so a blowgun or even just a slingshot were both out of the question. I'd impale myself with my own sword or trident, and a sickle or scythe were too... _Complicated._ Internally, I wince. Back at home, I couldn't afford to be this picky.

I remind myself that these weren't the only reasons I'd chosen what I had. The baton was used for many things- Blocking, jabbing, whacking, striking..And since my range of skills aren't so wide, I figure it would be nice to have a weapon that can match the things I _can_ do- Defend.

I'm brought back to the present by the cold, but smooth, voice of our trainer. I don't know if it's my mind, addled by all the physical exercise, but I think I catch a note of admiration in her tone.

"Vale Flemming has earned a score of 8 in simulation combat. We'll have a two-minute break, and then the final trial will begin."

I can't help but shudder at the way she says 'final'. I wonder who I'll be facing; There's several different assistants in the Training Center, at least two for each station. That would make at least ten, but then there were the other helpers; The ones who taught agility, or who were entitled to a specific weapon in the physical stations. I have to close my eyes and forget the math before it makes my brain implode.

I remember that I'm supposed to be taking a break and I look around for a bottle of water, but there's none here. I can't help but frown- By rest, did she simply mean to stand and do nothing? I'm just about to call out when I hear the familiar sound of an object flying through the air.

I think it's my adrenaline rush from earlier that saves me. I flinch back and catch the bottle in one hand, barely managing to wrap my fingers around it- It's cold, and wet. I'm half surprised and half annoyed, because I'd just been thinking about getting a drink and it was odd- And, yes, rude- That someone would throw this at me without even knowing if I'd catch it. I give a little shake of my head, because I know I'm overthinking this.

"Valerie, right?" My head whips around at the voice and there stands the assistant from earlier- The one who was at the fire-making station Nash had showed up to. I remember the dark hair and the brown eyes, the olive-colored skin. His voice is kind but a little hesitant, and I also remember the weird look he'd given me before I'd left to practice camouflage.

I've been thinking so hard about this that I've completely missed the fact that he's called me by my real name- My honest-to-Snow birth-name, Valerie. I've never told anyone my true name except my own family, and even then, the only person who's ever called me this was Graede.

Just his name brings a new lump to my throat and I'm staring at my feet to dry up the tears that have gathered in my eyes. There's one, then two tense moments before I trust myself to speak.

"Vale." Even with the extra time my tone is cracked and fairly quiet. He hears just fine, though, and nods. I can't tell if he's pretending he can't see that he's bothered me or he really hasn't noticed. I don't know which one would be worse.

"Ah, Vale. My bad." He nods, and I feel my shoulders relax. It was a guess. He doesn't know it's my name- He'd only remembered it that way, like when you meet someone named Jack and you can't help but call them John.

I've gotten lost in my thoughts again, and he's staring at me expectantly. I shake my head slowly. "Sorry, what?"

He flashes a grin, but it's wavering, and it doesn't reach his eyes. I have the feeling he thinks I've been ignoring him. "I'm Wess." His tone isn't sarcastic, just kind. "And are you enjoying your water?"

I realize that I haven't even opened the bottle and send him a brittle smile, twisting the cap open and taking a sip- Just to make him happy. He nods, as if that's all he needed. "Water is good for you, yes? Energy." He laughs, but when I don't laugh with him, he trails off and pretends to look at something other then my face.

It hits me that if he's an assistant, and just meeting me now, he must be who I'll be fighting. It's like I'm seeing through new eyes; I shift my weight and tense my shoulders, studying him almost out of the corner of my eye. He's lean, but he doesn't look very strong. Dorky, to be honest. Then again, looks aren't everything in the Capitol. _Not in this case, anyway._

Now I can't even be sure if he's up to something or not. He seems kind enough; Offering me water, telling me his name; But that could easily be something to gain my trust, to lower my guard. In fact, now that I think about it, he's looking at me, too- Sneaking glances at my eyes, my shoulders, my hands, as if he's cataloging everything I'm doing, how I move or breathe or blink. It's hypocritical, since I'm doing the same thing, but I feel as if I'm being stalked.

The bottle of fresh water in my hand suddenly doesn't seem so enticing. I lower my arm, letting it hang limply at my side, and he returns his full gaze to me now- I think I see something like anger in his eyes. I'm obviously rejecting his help, even if its as small as me not taking an offered drink. Before I can return the glare, though, it disappears, and he melts back into that laid back, slightly nervous man he's introduced himself as.

I swallow and I'm about to say something; Make small talk or point out that I've seen past his facade, or even laugh just for the heck of it, but a voice interrupts me. Oddly, I feel saved. I don't like awkward silences. I turn my face to the ceiling as a familiar voice rings throughout the Training Center:

"Vale Flemming, District Ten, versus Wess Lionel, Capitolite and assistant in the campfire station." I'm not sure the last part is necessary but I snap my mouth shut. A few heads turn towards the said station, but they're fixed on me again as soon as the voice starts back up. "I'll go over the rules one last time and then we'll officially begin." _  
_

Actually, I don't remember her reviewing the rules the _first_ time, but I keep that to myself, too. I crane my head to the side as our trainer stalks towards us. She's speaking even as she strides through the glass, but her voice is clear even as it melts and expands around her.

"As I said, you will _not_ be able to choose your weapons. One of the other assistants, who won't be participating, will choose from a bag. The objects in the bag range from paintbrushes to hairpins to spears. It's completely randomized."

I watch Wess's expression out of the corner of my eye as the rules are delivered. He's pulled on a mask of calm, his shoulders slack and his eyes intent. I can see the position of his legs, though, slightly spread, and the way his gaze slides from left to right- He's just as prepared for a fight as I am. I doubt I'll have any luck surprising him.

Thankfully, I haven't missed the rest of our directions. "There will be no time limit. The fight ends when one or the other is knocked out- Completely- or both of you are defeated. This will hurt, mind you. You'll feel pain when you get hit by knives or any other object. You'll bleed. You'll sweat, and feel tired, and generally feel as if all of this is...Real. It _is._ This last test is _not_ a petty illusion." Her pale lips curl in something like a sneer.

"You'll both pick your weapons from a bag. I'll count down from a certain number and then the fight will officially start. You don't have to be facing each other or even be prepared, really. I don't care if you're tying your shoelaces. Once I hit one, the real fun begins." Here her sneer transforms into a smile that's somehow even scarier. The lump in my throat is returned, and I'm starting to think it's making its home there.

When neither of us move, her expression hardens into something like impatience. "We don't have all day, Flemming. Get moving."

* * *

I'm not vey enthusiastic about the entire thing. The bag is about as big as one you'd use to pick up trash; No way a spear or a shield would fit in it. Most likely there's nothing but house items and fragments of objects. _Or maybe broken glass,_ I think bitterly.

Wess picks first. He closes his eyes, this creepy smile on his face, and dips his hand into the bag. It's old and woven from wrinkled brown cloth that stinks even from where I'm standing. I can see the outline of his fingers as they shift the objects around, picking, choosing. I'm just about to open my mouth when he pulls whatever he's chosen into open air.

It's a rod- Three or four feet long, metal and curved, flecked with rust. I can hear it rattle as he swings it through the air, testing it, and I have to bite back my smile. _Surely I can beat that. My chances have to be better then an old pipe._ I can't read his expression until he pulls a smirk onto his face. "This'll do." I look away as he flips it in one hand and catches it in the other. _But even if they are, I don't doubt he's trained to deal with situations like this, either._

I've been standing for at least half a minute before he glances up from his exercise. "Your turn," He chirps, waving a hand towards the sack like I'm picking a stuffed animal and not my future. My gut turns, and before I can chicken out or do something I regret, I plunge my hand into the bag.

The objects in it range from smooth to disgustingly bumpy, as if they're crafted from old barnacles. I shift my hand around, trying not to let the distaste shine through my features as I search for what I want. Not that I'm sure what that is.

I feel something small and metal beneath my palm and my pulse kicks forward a beat. I curl my fingers around the thing, and it's easy to find the hilt; Wood and smooth just like the blade. _A dagger_. For once, the odds are in my favor. My expression is smug as I yank the knife from the bag.

Except it's not a knife.

I can't help the emotions that flash onto my face, displaying my emotions perfectly: Shock, disappointment, embarrassment. Confusion. This wasn't right. _It's not even a weapon. She'll let me pick again. She has to._

In my hand lies an awl- A thin strip of metal centered into a bulge of wood that's the grip. I know what it is because I've used it countless times back at home to work my leather- Not the same one, of course, but I can recognize it regardless. At the very least it's sharp, but the hilt itself is so round it's difficult to grip in my fingers, which are slick with sweat- And the blade is so thin that I have a feeling it'll bend at the slightest tap of Wess's rod, however old it is.

I've been buried so deep in my shock I haven't realized someone is speaking. My eyes flit from the tool to Wess as the voice comes into focus.

"Two! One!" A cry comes from around me, and fear shoots up my spine like an arrow. The countdown- I'd missed the first three numbers. The round was beginning.

I'm frozen, waiting for Wess to attack, but he doesn't- He circles me, tossing the rod from hand to hand like it's a sword and eyeing me with a grin that's almost smug. I'm sure he thinks he'll win- After all, he is more experienced. My trainer's words ring in my head- _Never attack first. The best offense is defense._

Well, I'm good at defending. More or less. I shift into action, but my movements are jerky and uncoordinated. I study him like he's the wolf and I'm the prey- The look in his eyes is enough to convince me he's thinking the same thing. He stabs the rod towards me and I stagger back, nearly falling onto my behind. His grin widens, and I feel my fists clench around the awl.

It's not meant to be used with two hands, but that's exactly what I'm doing; Holding it like a firearm, pointing it at him as he moves around me as if he's gliding through the air. I'm gripping the hilt hard enough that it won't slip through my aching fingers- Hard enough that my trembling arms are nearly invisible.

The fight hasn't even begun, not really, and already I've broken out in a cold sweat. It makes me uncomfortable in all the wrong places, and I'm constantly shifting, adjusting my grip on my weapon and rolling my shoulders. The boy in front of me reminds me of a wildcat, the way he walks on his toes, his knees slightly bent and his gaze focused on me as if he has tunneled vision. I try my best to copy him, lowering myself into a half-crouch and letting my shoulders relax. I can't get the balancing part right, but I feel more steady now that my legs are farther apart. By now we're circling each other, and all anyone can here is the dull thunks of steel against skin as he tosses his rod from hand to hand.

I'm fully surprised when he strikes first, diving at me with his rod in one hand and the other clenched in a fist. Until now I've been shifting my weight left and right, looking for weaknesses or flaws. I hadn't expected him to attack first, nor for him to move so quickly.

I have no chance of dodging. His first hit strikes me in the side, right below my outstretched arm. I cry out and fling myself to the left as he takes a swing at my jaw. I'm clenching my teeth against the blooming pain in my side, because the last thing I need to do is distract myself with my own injuries. Even with that thought to steel my reserve, I'm blinking back tears. Maybe it's silly, but I'm almost certain that an old rod shouldn't be able to do this much damage.

I can only congratulate myself for moving out of the way of his fist. I don't think I'll win this if we fight hand-to-hand- He's much older and heavier then me, and one good punch could fully well send me unconscious. I shouldn't be distracting myself, but when I do the math in my head, my current score is about seven. I'm aiming for an eight or higher.

He hasn't come at me again yet, and I realize he's enjoying this- Seeing what can only be confusion marring my features. His words are breathy, not with exhaustion, I don't think, but more amusement- Like when you say something just before you laugh. His eyes twinkle.

"I threw that bottle for a reason, Valerie. It's rare to find a left-handed person in Panem." There's a flash of white and at first I think it's a blade but no- It's just his smile. It doesn't take me long to realize why he's so happy. He'd used trickery to gain an advantage on me- He knows my dominant arm. Truth be told, my right hand is almost useless to me; The chances of me swinging a weapon with it at all are slim. We both know it, too.

I curse under my breath and send my body flying towards him, aiming for his shoulder or even just his side. It's as if I'm moving in slow motion- He swerves in the opposite direction and kicks me forward with one boot, sending me staggering right past. I duck just as his rod swings over my head, ruffling my hair.

He doesn't even look winded, but I can see the scratch the width of a pin scrawled across his right side. I haven't even torn the fabric, not really; The only evidence that I've ever hit him is the red line, blooming into existence as if by magic.

I spin into a crouch, barely managing to keep my footing. I'm already breathing hard, and my grip is shaking on the hilt of my awl and even sweatier then before. _He's better then me. He's had years more experience. If I can't win this with brute force, it'll have to be with trickery._

It's too bad I'm not specialized in this kind of thing- I mix paint and tan leather for a living. I'm not a con woman, but for all means, I have to try. To win this means I'll have a shot at a sponsor, and to have a sponsor means I won't at least be killed in the first arena. I have to remind myself that I'm not winning just for my own pride; If I fully commit myself to such a thing, it'll be for my District, for my Aunt Rosa.

I feel my confidence ride up a notch.

Wess faces me, his dark hair matted to his head and his body swinging side to side like a cobra's. I have to push the thought of the obstacle simulation out of my mind and focus on the way he's moving. He's scanning me up and down, left to right, and I know he's judging my weaknesses- The way I can never seem to keep my balance, how slippery my weapon is in my hands, my heaving chest and quivering knees. Even though he's confident, it's not to the point where an attack directed at his ego will work. I'm scrambling for options, and my lips open almost of their own will.

I can't possibly win him over with my good looks or honeyed voice- Both of which are nonexistent. I'm outmatched in physical skill, too. Instead, I blurt the first thing that pops into my head.

"What's the opposite of zero, Wess?"

The man in front of me doesn't even freeze. His eyes narrow and he sinks into a lower stance, and I know he's on to me. I can see the confusion in his eyes, though. The gears turning in his head as he works through the problem. I don't know the answer myself. "Negat-"

"Don't look behind you!" I shriek in my loudest voice. It cracks at the end. His head whips over his shoulder almost instinctively, and I throw myself at him like a rabid animal. We both crash to the ground, and the rod spills from his hands. My awl is gone, too.

Mentally, I curse. Without my awl, this is pointless- He'll crush me. But he's still surprised. He sort of lays there, and I take the opportunity to wrap my arms around his throat.

I don't mean to kill him, just make him pass out. I think I'm doing it right. I press right down on his Adam's apple with my thumb, curling my fingers into his skin until it goes pale. His eyes are wide. His mouth opens and closes. I can't help but feel like a horrible person.

Wess's head tilts back and his eyes slide shut. I feel his body go limp beneath me, and the first thing that shoots through me is panic- I have no idea what I'm doing. What if I've really killed him?

It's the oldest trick in the book, but I let my hands fall from his neck.

His eyes snap open and I can't help the gasp that rises from my throat. Before I can move, he headbutts me hard enough that I see stars. I can only hope it hurts him, too. I roll off of my opponent with a sharp cry, cradling my head with one hand and flailing my other, searching for the awl. It's across the room for all I know.

"A ploy for a ploy, Valerie." I don't have time to register that he's called me by my real name- He's doing it to annoy me. Those thoughts fade when his weapon slams into my gut. I feel blood rush into my mouth almost instantly- I'm choking. I crawl away and spit out a glob of pinkish saliva. My hands are slick and I wobble on the tile. I'm still dizzy. My teeth feel sticky and the taste of metal scars my tongue. I can barely breathe. _I can't win this._

It's more of an accident then anything else when I lurch to one side and his boot slams into the space I just occupied. I can feel the vibrations through my skull, and my vision goes blurry all over again.

It's adrenaline that powers me to stop his next swing. The rod hits both my hands with a dull thwack, and I feel fire race up my arms. My bones feel like jelly. Still, I have the strength to jerk the rod towards my body and roll under it. The movement brings Wess smashing to the floor besides me. His fingers loosen on the weapon. I'm barely holding it- My grip on it is of a child's. We're both disoriented.

"Uhnh.." He's already on his knees. I'm expecting a fist, but when his elbow connects with my collarbone, my head snaps back as if I've been punched. Pain explodes right below my neck as an explosion has been set. My jaws stretch open, but no sound is made.

Wess barely notices the blood on his elbow, I don't think. He lunges towards me again, making a grab for the rod. My knee snaps upward almost on instinct and connects with his ribcage- Right where he hit me when this all started. He doubles over with a grunt, and I can practically see his eyes cross.

I have no defense as he crawls right back over and wraps his hands around my neck. His chokehold is much more efficient than mine. I feel like my jaw will pop from my socket- My throat bobs and convulses, but there's no air for me to breathe. I can't bring myself to move any part of my body.

It's one of the most difficult things I've ever done, but I let my head jerk forward and I spit right in his face.

His reaction is instantaneous. He lurches back as if I've burned him and I bring up my leg, letting my toe slam him right in his shin. He groans and crumples onto his side while I lay there on my back, gasping air like a fish.

I feel like my head has been run over by a truck, and then thrown into a microwave, but I can make out my awl through blurry vision- It lays feet away, almost completely out of reach. My fingers twitch, but I can barely sit up. Instead, I begin to inch my way towards it. Every shift on the tile of the 'arena' brings a new wave of pain towards my collarbone.

A firm hand latches onto my ankle and jerks me back, nearly dislocating my leg. I cry out as my head is knocked against the floor yet again- And again, air is not easy to come by. It seems like only a moment has passed before Wess has an arm pressed to my neck- He's crouching over me, and even though the pressure on my nape is firm, I can hear him breathing heavily. It sounds like he's cursing through the wheezes.

All possibilities of me reaching the awl have been thrown out the window. Instead of clearing, my eyesight is getting blurrier and blurrier. Even the loud breathing of Wess is fading from my ears. My adrenaline has faded, leaving my entire body feeling encased in lead. My collarbone throbs against the floor, which is cold enough that I'm shivering- Not that there's much room to do that with my opponent's arm across my neck. I can feel the fight leaving me, but I don't even feel bitter.

"You put up a good fight." The words are dull in my mind, as if they're coming from far, far above. I can hear my own breathing get quieter and quieter. My pulse slows- Not stopping, but so faint I can barely hear it. It's probably just my ears.

And then I'm too tired to think. The voice that rises from me is not my own; It's quiet and croaky, barely audible. I don't know why I'm going through the trouble..

"Good game."

The colors in front of me, which are so blurred that I can't tell if they're objects or people, fade to black.

* * *

 **Just a little author's note. I was going to end the chapter here, but then I decided that it really is time to wrap the training up. You'll see her score, and next chapter will be about twenty percent her watching the other tributes- And _then, finally,_ we'll get on to the arena.**

* * *

When my vision returns, I don't feel anything, not really. I don't sit up or feel a rush of adrenaline or gasp for air like they do in the movies. My eyelids sort of flutter, and I stare up at the ceiling for a moment- Pitch black dotted with gold. It takes a moment for the feeling to even return to my body. My mouth feels dry and stale; Every limb aches; And almost as soon as it comes to mind, my ribs and collarbone begin to ache all over again. Each rush of blood from my heart sends a new throb of agony to my injuries.

"Vale?" Wess is crouching to my side, one arm sloped over his knee and the other hanging at his side. He's studying me almost with concern- Like he's afraid he's hurt me, which is silly, because I'm almost certain he's broken a bone. I don't even have the energy to smile at him. I just narrow my eyes.

He winces, like he can read my thoughts. "At least you're awake. You only passed out for a few minutes.

"Marceline and the assistants are deciding your score. Just stay still." I can barely follow what he's saying; My head still spins. The name _Marceline_ jumps out at me as if it's been italicized. My lips don't feel like forming an entire question, so instead I croak, "Marceline?" I've never heard of a Marceline here. It's not like I know all the tributes' names, but I'm sure that's not one of them. Besides, why would a tribute be discussing my training score?

As if my confusion is written across my face, Wess sends me a smile that's too weak to be real. "The trainer? Dark hair, pale skin. Yells a lot." It doesn't take long for my mind to put her into focus. It seems odd now that I've known and listened to her for so long and never knew her name. I wonder what else I don't know. It's supposed to be a simple question for myself, but my stomach flips. She could be a spy, or a thief. She could have a family- A husband. People she cares about that she might never see again.

Now that I think about it, it makes sense. It would be just like the Capitol to blackmail District members into jobs like Peacekeeper or Training Assistant. I doubt Marceline's from any of the outer Districts, though. More likely One or Two. The Capitol would never recruit the lower class to do their dirty work for them. _It's all about presentation._

I've spaced out so completely that I've missed whatever Wess has been saying. I shake my head, but it doesn't hurt as much as I expect it to- Probably because I haven't hit it too hard, or at all. The fight itself is blurred in my mind. I remember my utter shock at seeing an awl in my hand, of all things; That quiet smirk on Wess's face; A grunt as I kneed him right in the side. A sudden thought springs to mind and I crane my neck.

Blood is splattered over the tile of the Training Arena, deep red against the black-and-white tile. Brighter blood, almost the color of fruit, is scattered on the far side. There's not a large amount of either, but it's a safe guess that most of it is mine- I have to squeeze my eyes shut and think hard to push down the bile in my throat. I really have no wishes to vomit laying down in front of all these tributes. The smell of blood doesn't help, either, thick and metallic in my nostrils. My eyes actually water.

Wess blinks, hard, leaning forward. "Look, Vale, that's not what I meant- You got in a few hits. It'll be fine."

I feel a jolt when I realize that it must look like I'm crying. I'm smart enough that I don't try to wipe away the tears- The area below my neck is still flaming with heat, and my ribs throb just as forcefully as before. I focus in on those last words. _It'll be fine._

I send him a half-angry, half-confused look, because Wess of all people should know that nothing in the Capitol is fine. I've just been completely trashed in a fight to prove myself worthy of the Capitol. If I'm less then perfect, they'll never approve- And if no one approves, that's exactly zero people for me to depend on when the time comes. Things are far from _fine._

My mind flashes back to two days ago- Or was it one? _I'm scanning the racks of weapons, my brow furrowed in thought. Lavenne's quiet voice rings out behind me- Try the spears. We launch into a conversation about an alliance. I agree wholeheartedly, without thinking of the consequences- Erika, Jonah, Wylie. The rest of my team will never join forces with me if I'm seen with Lavenne or her friends. Most importantly, the consequences for myself. I haven't used my head, not in the slightest. I can't afford to slip up like this in the arena._

Now, that seems to have happened a million years ago. I wonder if we even still have an alliance. Even if I reach my goal, my overall score will still be just about eight. The outer Districts are always the most targeted in the games, because they have the least chances of survival. What will Lavenne think about an ally who fails both physical and simulated tests- Who can't even win in a fist-fight? Who passes out after- what- three minutes? It's hard even to judge how long Wess and I had been going at each other.

My gut flips. If District 11 drop out of the alliance, I literally have no one left. My chances of partnering up with Kyle are zero. Wylie and Karter have made it clear- in private- That they'd rather be left alone. No one from a Career District, or even Seven or Eight, would dare team up with low-classed paint-mixer.

I'm suddenly glad I have an excuse not to simply lift my head and look up. I don't want to see the disappointment- or pity- On my team's faces, or on Lavenne's. I don't even want to see Wess, really. His words are lies.

In the back of my mind, I know that I'm being unfair, but that really doesn't matter. Wess had only helped me to hurt me. Karter was better off with the Careers, and my other options are either out of commission or were about to be. I feel anger rise in my gut. _The odds are not in my favor. Not today, not ever._ Those words spin around in my head and I only get more worked up. My fists clench, sending pain shooting up my arms right to my collarbone. My eyes are dry as bone, and I can hear my teeth grind through the ringing in my ears.

I'm about to say something I regret when for about the tenth time today I'm drowned out by a firmer, smoother voice. "Vale Flemming, District Ten of Livestock, has earned a score of six in physical combat. Her final score is seven."

It's like the entire room lets out a collective sigh. I feel myself go limp and my head tilts back. I'm breathing through my nose, quiet, even breaths. Above me, in my peripheral vision, Wess combs his hair back from his scalp with his fingers and closes his eyes.

Even though I look completely relaxed, I can hear my heart hammering against my chest as if it's trying to break free. I've made it- Six or lower and any chances of a sponsor would be nonexistent. I've just barely qualified. Barely, but that wasn't the key word. I _made it._

Temporarily, the pain- My aching arms and legs, my throbbing abdomen, my flaming neck- Disappear. I had actually gotten a score of seven. I had actually beat the odds. Before me, District Ten's only known victors were Erika Peters and Jonah Fife. Maybe I'm exaggerating- After all, I haven't yet won the Games- but that's unimportant, at least for now. I feel a fire burning deep in my chest- Completely different from my previous anger- that I imagine matches the color my eyes. My hearts swells with something heavy and thick, light and joyful at the same time. _Take that, Careers._ I can only envision their expressions. The thought brings this little smile to my face that I can't seem to wipe off even though I'm sweaty, sore, and almost completely drained of life.

It takes me exactly one second to identify the feeling in my chest. It's not pride, not exactly. Not pure happiness, either.

Hope.


	17. Chapter 17: Goodbye And Good Luck

**Hi! It took me an entire week to post Chapter 16, which honestly is grating on my nerves. I need to stop being so lazy. I'm starting this on November 29th. Changing subjects; Guys, please check out Soldier On. It's by This Is Not A Horcrux. The story is absolutely awesome. I won't spoil it, but, seriously. It. Is. AMAZING.**

 **With that stuff said, please enjoy!**

* * *

I barely have time to enjoy my success before I'm bombarded with questions- Most of them asked by Erika and Jangerine. Wylie's gotten a seven, Karter a six, and Kyle got an eight. I can't help the jealousy that shoots through me when I learn of this, but I can't change it. _I can only do better._

We're all sitting at the table that's already heaped with homey-looking foods- Mashed potatoes drizzled in gravy, steaming bowls of soup, sprinkled with greens, yams split open at the center and smeared with butter. There's even a plate of sandwiches off to the side which I think is just for me. Even if it isn't, I take three. Better safe than sorry.

Jangerine hasn't touched her food- I watch her bounce and giggle in her seat from the corner of my eye and I can't help but feel nauseated. I'd been knocked out during Training almost twice, the evidence making way in my blurry vision and aching ribs. I haven't broken any bones- I don't think I would have been able to live through that pain- but they're merely _fractured,_ Marceline tells me. Like that makes it any better. Even my collarbone aches, but all I got for that was some kind of healing balm. Every once in a while it'll send a wave of heat through me that I can only assume is the wound stitching itself up.

My escort isn't helping. She barks off random comments and questions, waving her hands and at one point nearly impaling Jonah with a fork. Her hair- platinum blond, streaked with pink- is styled into two buns the size of house cats on either sides of her head. Her eyelashes are almost pure white, and she still has the diamond in her cheek where a dimple would be. Her voice is as squeaky as ever.

"Oh I simply cannot _believe_ the twists that have been incorporated into this year's Quell. They're brilliant, I tell you. Brilliant! A training twist! Never before have we had a _training_ twist. The trials- Pure works of art. A simulated obstacle course, testing your physical abilities..A partner based on _your_ select strengths and weaknesses.. A fight between a tribute and an assistant!? Yes! Those assistants never _do_ get much action, you know. It must be good exercise for them to finally be up and moving." She fans herself with one hand while I glare holes into my plate. I doubt she'd find it so exciting if she was the one getting knocked around behind the glass. Her breathy tone is making my skin itch with something like anger. We all know what happened. We were all _there._

She's not finished. "Vale, you certainly tried your best. I could _feel_ your pain through the glass, I tell you. Good effort." She sends me a stretchy smile but I don't return it. Instead, I opt to stare at her- I'm not very good at maintaining eye contact, not usually, but my escort seems to wither under my gaze. She squirms, flipping a lock of hair to cut through my gaze like a knife, and returns to dancing around her food with her fork. It's hard to admit, even to myself, but I wish she'd say more. I wish she'd congratulate me fully- _Vale, you were so strong and fast. Vale, you did amazing. Vale, from your fight, I can certainly tell you are one of the most determined people I have ever met._ I know it's only wishful thinking, though. Jangerine would never say anything like that in a million Quarter Quells. I don't realize I'm still staring at her until, to my right, Erika nudges me with her shoulder and nearly knocks me out of my chair. I right myself just in time, gripping the table hard enough that my fingers ache, and return my eyes to my steamed carrots.

No one's noticed my momentary lapse in balance except for Erika and, of course, Kyle. He sends me a funny look that I can't really comprehend no matter how hard I try. Before I can snap a retort, he returns to his food, his lips pressed into a thin line. I feel bitterness begin to gather in my gut, and with my anger it's a nasty combination- I feel my annoyance build until I'm outright scowling, stabbing my mashed potatoes rather than eating them. What had I done to offend that lump of muscle _now?_

There's no more questions about my trials- Not one. It seems odd and even a little pathetic that the deepest anyone is willing to investigate is through _their_ own eyes, not mine. That's fine. What goes around, comes around- And when the time comes for _my_ team to show off, I won't be cheering for them, either.

I shove my plate into the center of the table and stand so quickly all my utensils spill onto the floor. I really don't care. I don't bother pushing my chair in, either- I place one hand on the back of Jangerine's chair and shove her to the side, making my way past. She makes this strangled sound in the back of her throat that fills me with nothing but disgust. It takes all my remaining energy not to turn around and pick a fight with her right then and there. _She's not worth it._

 _None of them are._

Even with the pressure I put on my feet as I stalk down the hall, my boots make no sound on the velvety carpeting. I have the sudden urge to rip it- Or ruin it in any way- And I swing my door open and slam it shut again before I can do something even more stupid. It shudders on its hinges.

I feel a thrill go through me but it's shot down by fear. I can't help glancing over my shoulder- I've always been what one would call straight-laced. I've never slammed a door in my life. We didn't _have_ many doors back at home, and I've never found any reason to get angry at poor Aunt Rosa.

Two things occur to me- First, that I'm already referring to my own District in the past tense, as if I'll never see it again; And second, _Aunt Rosa._ Those two words spin up so any memories I freeze. I'm not even staring at the walls of my room anymore- I've gone back in time.

Rosa was my guardian after my parents died. It's not like I knew them at all; My father left before I was born, and my mother died when I was young. I don't miss either of them, however cold that sounds. It's hard to grieve for someone you don't even remember.

Even if I did remember them, I would be alright. Rosa was the best guardian ever. By guardian, I don't mean by law- Our District doesn't have a lot of those, at least not for orphans- But by caring for me in general. She'd cook, clean, tend to our livestock, give us kisses. Us as in Graede and I.

Aunt Rosa had amber eyes, like mine, and curly hair the color of cinnamon. I've seen pictures of my mother, too- Her eyes are just as bright, but a lot less fierce. In those, her hair's brown and straight, like mine, but neat, too. It reached her shoulders. I'm not sure what dad looked like, and frankly, I don't care. I rarely ever think about him.

My aunt was healthy, that much I'm sure of. Between her diet of vegetables and fresh produce, and her work out in the fields, she had to be. What I _don't_ know is how she got so sick. I can't even pronounce the name of her disease- It has something to do with her stomach, I think. Digestive system.

Those words strike enough fear through me that I'm jolted out of my memories. I'm wasting time thinking, anyway. It's late, and tomorrow is training- Not for me, but for others. I doubt I'll pay much attention. If Wylie and the others aren't interested in my fights, the effort _I_ put into these trials, then I won't be in theirs, either. Especially not Kyle's.

I have to shuffle over my bed before my mind goes into overdrive again. I rarely sleep with my shoes on, but I'm so tired I don't even untie the laces. I haven't showered or brushed my teeth either, which makes me feel plainly dirty, but it's not enough to blot out my exhaustion. I twist in the bed until I'm almost entirely tangled in the blankets, then wrap my arms around the pillow like it's my lifeline. I'm asleep almost before I close my eyes.

* * *

 **A little input from the author, here. I'm not going to go into detail about the last day of training. Really, I've wasted enough chapters on it, and I want to get into the interview. In fact, we'll skip right to when she's getting ready with her prep team, and y'all can grasp what you can about how the day went from there. I'm still deciding how I'm going to use the time management in this; Training will probably last half a day, which, no, does not make sense, since it took, what- One or two days for Vale, who's name is in the high _Fs,_ to have her turn? Oh well. I'm tired of rambling. On with the story!**

* * *

Training isn't nearly as intimidating as it was before I endured it. The lowest score- Overall- is a four. I can only remember that her first name begins with a K. She doesn't even seem upset about it; She gives a little one-shouldered shrug, averts her eyes, and slips through the glass. I have the sneaking suspicion that maybe she's gotten a low score on purpose- It's not the worst strategy. The weaker you seem in these Games, the less people will be after you. Unfortunately, that means less sponsors, too.

I shake my head as we file out the door to drown out all these thoughts. I'm trapped by sweaty bodies and coursing whispers, and its making me itch beneath my uniform. I hate crowded places like these. It doesn't take long for me to shove my way to the front of the audience, wiggling past some and sliding right in front of others. Even as I walk down the hall, arms swinging from how fast I'm going, I'm kicking off my boots.

I'm due for an appointment with my prep team, which I've honestly been hoping I'd never see again. It's not that I don't like them; They're just so different, so _strange,_ that I can't help but feel awkward around them. I scoop up my shoes in one hand and reach back with the other, niggling the zipper on the back of my suit.

I remember Elvira, with her snake-tongue and curly tattoos and narrowed pupils. Yamazen, with his high-pitched voice and his tufty blonde hair. Nell, with her slanted, twinkling eyes and small smile. I can feel a tug in my stomach that I haven't expected to be there. I had no idea I would miss them- I haven't thought of them since I walked out of that room. Not much, anyway.

I slip through the door of our room and I'm already wiggling out of my uniform. It hasn't occurred to me that other people would be here, but they're not. I feel stupid and strangely embarrassed as I duck into my room, already nude. It's not like anyone's seen me, but my cheeks feel flushed. My entire body does.

I've rushed to change so fast that it doesn't occur to me until I turn the knob again that I could have stayed in my uniform- After all, I was going to be bathed and shaved anyway. I shiver at the memories of itchy skin and silky hair, and I wonder what I'll be wearing this time.

Almost as soon as the thought worms its way into my mind I feel panic tighten my chest. I haven't reviewed my angle with Erika at all- I have no idea if I'm going to be playful, or intelligent, or sly. Probably neither, really. If anything I'll be neutral- I'll tell them that the Games are something that can't be stopped, not by me or anyone else. Relief floods through me, washing away my earlier doubt all too easily. Not only will I actually have something to go off of, but this is probably what the Capitol wants- For someone, anyone to realize that they can't be beat.

That we can't change anything.

I swallow, hard, my throat suddenly dry. By the time I'm in the main room the feeling has faded, but that doesn't stop the thoughts from lingering- Drifting through the back of my mind, where I've stored them for until after the interview. I've gotten a good training score, and now I need a good oral presentation, too.

My heart is hammering as I swing the door open and trail down the hall. I've never been good in terms of socializing at all, and in school, talking in front of people had always terrified me. It still does, really, and this will be an even bigger crowd; Almost the entire Capitol, and even a few from the Career Districts, all to see the interview. I realize, with a sickening feeling, that planning an angle myself isn't enough. I really do need my mentor for this.

It's the first time I've ever put Erika in any sort of position of value. Before, she'd been nothing but a bully; Not exactly cruel, but definitely rude. At the same time, I lean on her almost as heavily as I will on my sponsors. It's my mentor I'm supposed to go to for things like this- What angle I'll be using, how to answer, where to look. Stylists aren't meant to give tips, even stylists like Dimond.

I wonder if Kyle has already gone to her. If so, he must be a lot more prepared than I am. Resolve spreads through my entire chest like steel, because that's all the motivation I need- to be surpass him. He's already gotten the better training score, but that says nothing for what he'll do in front of the camera. The best way for me to win this is to simply be _better._

It's not like I'm planning sabotage. Never in a millennium would I think of messing with my team like that, and especially not Kyle Smith. I'd rather chew glass or lose my right arm.

My eyes pull into focus a thick metal door with a single window, and my gut flips. I'm _here._ It's difficult to imagine that my feet remembered the way, even if I didn't. My pulse has picked up all over again. I'll never get time to speak to Erika if I go in now. I don't even know if I'm late.

Before I can turn around, there's a sharp grinding, metal against metal, and the door swings open as if by magic. I can feel my insides sinking all the way to my toes as I take the first step forward. I'm suddenly feeling light-headed. I wonder if I can fake sickness- Surely they wouldn't make me go on stage if I threatened to vomit.

My train of thought is completely knocked off the rails when three painstakingly familiar figures glide into view- A woman with tan skin and midnight-black hair, another with swirling tattoos and irises the color of lavender, and a third, with wild blonde hair turned white by the lights of the room and a face that shines even without them.

"Vale!" Yamazen steps forward first, his eyes just as wild as his hair. I've barely gotten a chance to look him over before he wraps my in a bone-crushing hug, laughing all the while and patting my back with one hand. I really don't know what to do, so I stand there, throwing a smile over his shoulder.

He steps back and I resist the urge to suck in a breath. He has a strong grip for someone so skinny. Instead, I roll my shoulders as if with confidence, though really I'm working the kinks from my muscles. He's still smiling, too, and I realize he's waiting for something. It takes me a moment to figure out, and I immediately feel silly- and a bit rude. I fix that same grin back on my face. "Hi."

There's no more hugs- Thank Panem- But Nell gives me her soft smile that I remember so well and Elvira purrs my name. "We missed you, Flemming," She hums, a smirk tugging at her lips. She's so confident I can't help but return it.

"Where's Dimond?" I wince at the expression on Yamazen's face- I couldn't have waited to have a conversation before I moved on to the next person? I avert my eyes when he speaks so I don't have to see the hurt look in his.

"She'll be here after you're finished." His voice is careful, almost emotionless, and my guilt only swells. I'm really not good at the whole _social_ business.

Elvira either hasn't noticed the chasm between us or she simply doesn't care- And I think it's a mix of both. I make my way over to her when she beckons with one clawed hand, already chattering off instructions.

I space out after that. I remember the table, cold and smooth against the skin of my back- The sharp smell of the oil they'll rub on my skin- And voices, always the voices. Never Nell's, of course; It's usually Yamazen, whining or throwing in his two cents, or Elvira, snapping orders.

Nell waves a goodbye, resting my palm in both of hers and meeting my eyes for a count of three. My throat is suddenly tight, and before I can say anything, she slips out the door. I can already feel the tears stinging my eyes, which is completely irrational. I brush them from the corners and I have to bite my lip so it doesn't tremble. My chest is unbelievably heavy with sadness.

Elvira grins, but it crumples so quickly I can only stare. When her lips tremble and two big, fat tears roll their way down her cheeks, I'm left stunned.

"Take care, Flemming." She doesn't touch me, only sniffs and throws me another grin, this one a lot shakier. I croak a reply- Maybe "You too," or "Okay." My voice is so quiet I can't tell. Her slitted pupil's, which remind me of a cat's, are unusually round and bright. She works her jaw and I can see her holding back another flood of tears. Her heels tap on the concrete floor of the room, and then she's gone too.

Before I know it a tall, blonde figure is pushing his way out after them, and the same guilt from before pushes the next words from my mouth.

"Yamazen?"

He turns his head over his shoulder, a furrow in his brow, and I panic. I don't even know what I'm going to say- I don't even know what my own intentions were. He's staring at me. I break out in a new cold sweat and it occurs to me that I'm probably melting off all those expensive lotions.

And he's still looking. I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, but thankfully, my voice doesn't crack. It flies through my mouth on wings of its own.

"Thanks."

His white-blonde eyebrows shoot up like I've just spoken in a different language, and dozens of thoughts race through my head at once. I wonder if he even heard me- I'd spoken so fast that it was entirely possible he _hadn't-_ And I've been told many, many times just how quiet my voice can be.

Yamazen's face splits into a grin, and his blue eyes dance. "You're welcome."

The corners of my mouth are really quivering now. I can feel something building in my chest that isn't the warmth I felt just a moment before at those last two words. I stare at Yamazen's back as he leaves- His straight-as-an-arrow hair, his bright, pressed shirt, and his legs, working back and forth in impossibly long strides as he makes his way outside. I remember how Elvira always used to tease him for being so tall- How Nell would give a little smile, like she wanted to laugh but wouldn't for the sake of his dignity. I remember their sparkling eyes and faint accents, the way they fought or walked, each with a different gait.

I wait for the door to click shut before I let the tears spill over my cheeks.

* * *

I stare at myself in the mirror, my face slack- By now, the water has dried on my cheeks, and the makeup has covered any puffiness that might have been under my eyes. It's done simply; Smudged, dark brown paint around my eyes and a smooth gloss on my lips. My short hair has been washed and rewashed, and it's light as feathers on my head- A feeling almost as strange as my clipped nails and freshly scrubbed skin. I have to push away all memories of Nell, running her nimble fingers through my hair as if she's been born to do it, and Elvira, swiping the sponge over my skin again and again to get me feeling 'clean'. I can't bring myself to, and however much of a coward I know that makes me, I can't change it.

My throat bobs and I let my gaze trail farther down my reflection.

I wear a loose denim shirt that's rolled up just above my wrists. The collar is flipped down and tilted to look messy, and the top button is undone- I wear a beige shirt under it. Both tops are tucked into a brown skirt, riddled with folds, that falls short of my knees. My leggings under the skirt are black, ripped, and smudged with dirt, but my shoes are shiny and flashing with gold buckles. Of course, they have heels, too. I have two bells of the same material hanging around my neck like pendants.

I don't get to keep the hat this time, though mine is still gray. It has a wide brim and it's tilted back, hanging almost vertical on my head. Even my hair has been restyled; Now I have actual bangs, cropped and tangled to look natural; They skim my brows and curl around my ears. Even more surprising, I like it.

From behind me, Dimond echoes my thoughts. "I was going for something simple, y'know? Not too fancy, like your dress, but not too plain, either. It gives you sort of a preppy look, I think."

I flinch at the word 'prep' as if I've just been slapped. The memory of my friends' goodbyes are still fresh in my mind, and I find myself replaying them- Each one, in perfect sequence. The lump in my throat grows until I feel like I'm swallowing a cow, and all I can do is give her a small nod. I'm careful not to knock the hat off my head.

I'm surprised, if not a bit confused, that my stylist hasn't even bothered to ask what angle I'm going for. It takes me a while to figure out, and when I do, my eyebrows shoot up straight into my hair. It doesn't matter what angle I'd been going for, not really- This outfit could play on all of them. Dimond was right when she said it was simple. I try not to be too obvious as I shift my eyes from my own reflection to hers. She's smarter then I've given her credit for.

Dimond's eyes flick to mine and I lower my gaze a second too late. I'm frozen, waiting for her to say something, but she only laughs. "I'll give you a second with your mentor, and then both of you can head to the elevator. Good luck, Flemming." I look up just in time to see her wink and slip through the doors. My confused reflection stares back at me. _What mentor?  
_

As if she's been summoned, Erika shoves the door open, striding into the room like it's her own. Her hazel eyes fix on me and her lips curl in a sneer.

"'Bout time, Flemming. Took you long enough to get ready." My mouth pops open for a retort, but she's already flopped down on one of the sofas. She slaps the cushion next to her, and I tense. It only takes one look from my mentor to get me scuttling over to sit down.

I wait for her to speak first, because there's no way she _doesn't_ have something to say. I'm right.

"We don't have much time. I'm going to go over the highlights and you're going to listen. Got it?" Her voice is just as rough and loud as I remember it. I stare at my shoes, and my answer is mumbled.

"Got it."

She nods, like that fixes everything, and it doesn't take long for her to launch into an explanation- How I'll need to choose an angle that reflects on my outfit, one that plays on my strengths, and how I'll need to be confident to earn anything from anyone. "The key is making them like you, girlie."

I've already gone over all of this in my head, but I listen anyway. I doubt it'd be very smart to do otherwise.

My mentor flicks a strand of russet-brown hair behind her ear and leans back, craning her neck to study me. I can see the veins in her neck.

I don't realize she's asked me a question until she growls, "Well?" That's enough to jolt me into a new round of stammering.

Erika narrows her eyes and talks right over me. Her voice is a lout louder than mine. "I asked you what angle you're going for. Make it reasonable." The last words end in a snarl and I wince. We both know what she means by that.

"Neutral." My voice is hesitant, but by the end of the word, I think she can hear me. I repeat myself just in case. "I want to go for a neutral angle. Not beautiful, or intimidating, or intelligent, because I might not be able to pull off either of those. If I'm neutral, I can do whatever I like."

My mentor grunts, and I think it's one of agreement before she speaks. "Neutral ain't anything special, girlie. You want to attract attention. Attract sponsors. Didn't I already say that you need to make them like you?"

I grit my teeth at the way she says 'you' and not 'we.' This is one person that doesn't like working together. I lower my gaze to my boots again when I reply.

"If I'm neutral, I can say that Games are Games and I don't want to change that, nor can I. Isn't that something? The Capitol likes it when they're flattered- Put in a position of power like that. It's not like I can do anything else, Erika. I can't.." I trail off. I think it's the first time I've ever called my mentor by her name to her face.

Her eyes darken and I can feel her glare drilling into the side of my head. Even so, I keep my gaze fixed on my feet, studying the way the light reflects on the gold of the buckles and the curve of the heel. Anything but look into those green-brown eyes.

I hear her growl something under her breath and I don't think it's a 'thank you'. When she speaks, her voice is tight and low. "Fine."

It worries me that it should take so much power to get a response like this out of my mentor, because we're supposed to be a team, too, but I can't say that. I swallow and nod, and it's not until she stands that I lift my eyes again.

"Thank you."

It sounds a lot more fake than when I said it to a certain blonde-haired man, but Erika doesn't care. She shrugs and stalks out the door without as much as a 'you're welcome'. The fear in my chest that I think has been frozen since she came in melts, and I let out a breath through my lips.

 _So much for needing her._

* * *

By the time I get to the elevator, everyone is waiting, and I have to admit they look just as good as I do.

Wylie's shirt is white, and she doesn't wear anything under it- I have to skip down to her shoes before my cheeks flush. Her arms are pale and smooth, and her boot buckles are silver instead of gold- So are the bells around her neck. Her makeup is just as simple as mine, a smooth gloss and fading black paints over her lids that make her blue eyes pop out like chips of ice. Her hair is piled into a messy bun, held in place with what looks like a piece of straw- Though it can't be.

The boys are dressed similar to us, with the same buttoned, rolled-up shirts. Kyle's top four buttons are loose and he doesn't wear anything under it, either. Both their shirts are tucked into baggy brown jeans that end at the calves and laced combat boots. They wear simple necklaces- knotted string- and their hair shines. Karter has the same color scene as Wylie, and Kyle's matches mine.

I don't know how I hadn't noticed before, but Jonah and Erika are twins, too. Their shirts are a lot less airy and Erika has no bells, and her reddish-brown hair is in a ponytail tied into place with the same straw-like material as Wylie's. Neither of them wear makeup, either. In the back of my mind, I wonder if maybe the reason I hadn't been paying attention to my mentor's attire is because I was scared stiff, but I shove that thought off a cliff before I look too deep into it.

Wylie grins when she sees me, but her lips quiver. Karter gives me a little nod and Kyle completely ignores me, though that's nothing new. I slip past them all through the glass doors of the elevator.

The ride up is slow. Jonah is murmuring something in Erika's ear, and I can see her nodding and frowning from my position in the back. Wylie is wringing her hands together and her eyes dart around as if she's looking for an escape route. Karter stands behind her, still and quiet as a shadow, and I don't even bother to glance at Kyle.

A sudden thought pops into place and I look around before letting my voice rise over the hum of the elevator. "Where's Jangerine?"

Erika is about to say something, but Jonah beats her to it, which somehow comforts me. "She's waiting for us. She'll give you all a few tips before the interview actually begins." He hesitates, then leans forward, his voice low. "Jangerine doesn't really like goodbyes. She'll wait until the last possible moment to talk to us, and when she leaves, it'll be quickly. She gets teary about these things." My eyes widen, but before I can say anything in return, he straightens and continues whatever secret conversation he's been having with Erika.

I feel Kyle glaring at me from the corner of his eye and I shift so that he's staring at my back. It's an awkward position, but I stay that way until there's a soft chime and the doors glide open.

We're supposed to file out one after another, in an 'orderly' fashion', and that's just what we do. I slip through last, if only because my heart wants to jump out of my chest and I'm feeling faintly sick- But it won't matter anyway. We're lining up by District, and then in alphabetical order. My eyes begin to burn, because that means I'm going to be first.

I want to get it over with but I don't want it to ever happen. I'm just about to blurt out an excuse about my sickness- Which, really, wouldn't be a lie- When the lights flash and the ground beneath me fades to glass. I suck in a breath because I know I'm too late.

The dull roaring that I assumed was from the elevator is back, and I actually feel dizzy. We'd been hearing the crowd all the way from the tenth floor. My mind goes blank again as the stage opens out before me.

Every tribute- Including me- Is lined up against the back wall, out in the open for all those eyes to see. Straight ahead an entire ocean of people spreads out before us- Thousands, maybe millions, all screaming their praise. Through my blurred vision I can't even spot Jonah and Erika, or Dimond. The butterflies in my stomach feel more like a zoo. My heart is working overtime, and I'm sweating again.

I've never been in front of such a large audience. Maybe it's because of the ringing in my ears, but I miss Flickerman's entire introduction. Julia is right there next to him, too, giggling. Her high-pitched laughter is the only thing I can hear besides the bellows of the crowd.

Already the first tribute is walking up to the stage; A girl with ivory skin, long brown hair, and a dress the color of bellflowers. It swirls around her feet and fans into the air when she glides into her seat.

More laughter. Flashing lights. Approval from the crowd that resonates throughout my skull like thunderclaps.

By the time I'm back in my own body, three more have gone. District Two is sending up their first tribute. He swaggers up to the stage, and I lift a hand to swipe the remaining tears away. I'm seeing doubles.

Except when the rest of my vision is clear, there's still two of him. I can't help but frown, and the realization only dawns on me when the second _him_ speaks.

"Wonderful, Chase. We're doing just fine, thank you. I mean, you just can't outdo Two." That earns a laugh from the crowd.

 _We're._ Even with only one of him talking, it still takes me three or four moments to actually puzzle it out.

 _Twins._

My brain expands until I feel like I'm standing on two feet again. Twins from Two. I remember now. Lance and-

"Dante." The first of them laughs, leans forward to shake Julia's hand. "Call me Dante."

Chase's grin is almost as white as the stage-lights. "Dante and Lance Arenus, eh? Twins...Nice." He shakes his head and laughs. "Twins from Two. _Nice."_

They joke around for what seems like hours- Exchanging jokes, purring compliments. Both of them are exactly twice as smooth as I will ever be in front of the cameras. A few times Julia actually tries to flirt, which is sad enough that I keep focused. I'm biting my cheek hard enough that it bleeds, but the giggles threaten to spill through my lips.

I only really begin to pay attention again when Chase leans forward. Even from the near end of the line I can see his eyes darken. "Dante, was it? These are the Games. Chances are, one of you will have to.." He swallows, and I can actually _see_ him struggling with the words. "Will have to kill the other. How do you feel about that?"

The crowd is suddenly silence. It's like the entire room is holding its breath, including me. I don't even notice I'm leaning forward until I nearly stumble onto my knees.

Dante's expression twists into one of pain. He runs a hand through his short, dark brown hair, and his blue eyes are narrowed. "I.."

One of the ladies, in the near front of the crowd, bursts into tears.

Dante pauses before continuing. "We made a deal, you know? If it...If it does come to that, we make it quick. We make it smooth. No pain, no shame." He glances at his brother, who is having trouble swallowing.

It hits me for maybe the tenth time since I've been reaped just how wrong these Games are- Throwing siblings, _twins,_ into a game of death. There's no way this had to be chance, either. No one has _that_ bad of luck. Even when I think this, another corner of my mind is hoping that maybe they do. Misery really does like company, and as much as I don't want to admit it, it would be a lot easier if their luck was bad enough that they'd be taken out early. It's nothing but wishful thinking, but it does help calm my nerves- Only a little.

I've missed another big chunk of the show. The Arenus brothers have walked back to their places and one of the girls from Two is gliding into her seat.

I let my brain skip over everyone else, because if I have to be honest, I don't care. In the long run, maybe it would help if I did- After all, with the questions on these interviews, I'd learn quite a bit about each tribute- But it was just so boring. I study the swirling, pixelated patterns on the floor beneath me and try not to remember golden threads floating through the air, a hot, sandy desert, or an arm slamming into the back of my neck. Luckily, It's a good thing I'm fresh out of tears.

I nearly choke on air when I see the girl that was in front of me- Gwenith- walking back to her place. Her eyes are wide and her brown hair, twisted into a braid, is frizzy. She doesn't even look at me- Just presses her back to the wall like she's glued there and closes her eyes.

It's my turn to walk up.

* * *

I hope that no one can see my trembling knees, the sweat on my brow, my quivering smile as I walk up to the stage. My back is straight but stiff, as if I'm possessed, and really all I can focus on is not tripping in these ridiculous shoes. I make it to the carpet safely, and I plop down onto my seat, wincing when my shoulder blades slam against the backrest. Chase pretends not to notice.

"And here we have Vale Flemming of District 10!" I'm surprised when applause echoes from the crowd. I wouldn't expect to be known at all, but here they are, smiling and waving. It's all I can do to raise one hand and return the gesture.

The lights are distracting, flashing ahead of me and in my peripheral vision. I blink, hard, and see Chase staring at me. I stare back. What is he waiting for?

His lips move but make no sound. My frown increases until I'm almost glaring, my hands balled into tight fists in the center of my lap. I'm more confused than angry, though, so I say the first thing that comes to mind:

"What?"

My eyes trail over his shoulder to the crowd, and they're hooting their laughter. I hunch my shoulders, because I don't know what's so funny. I was only asking what _Chase_ was doing.

His brown eyes twinkle, and he speaks before Julia can- I see her lean forward, her lips twisted in a smirk, ready to pop a joke. "I asked, do you have any family at home? Family that you miss once you..." He flaps a hand. "Enter the arena?"

I swallow. I don't know why it's so difficult for me to answer, since I really only have my aunt, but my throat is all closed up. It takes me several tries for my voice to work again, and even then, it's quiet compared to the audience.

"I only have an aunt. My parents died, and my brother..." I've led myself into my own trap. I look down as quickly as possible so no one can catch the tears in my eyes.

It's Julia's turn, and her voice is _dripping_ false sympathy. I look up, and she actually bats her lashes when she speaks.

"It's _such_ a shame what happened to your brother, Vale. Graede, right? I guess he loved too much..." Her lips pull into a pout, and I feel rage boiling inside of me. I'm almost not afraid of the cameras anymore. She's acting like it was all one big accident, one that was his fault. She doesn't even _care,_ not really, and the entire room knows it.

I hadn't seen him before, but I catch Jonah's eye over her shoulder. He's sitting in the front row with Erika in the others, and its a wonder I hadn't noticed them before. He gives the tiniest shake of the head, and the message is clear: _Go with it._

I've waited too long to respond. I meet Julia's gaze to make up for my hesitance and I'm genuinely surprised when my voice comes out clear and steadier than before.

"It really is. I mean, he was such a nice person.." I sigh, and venom coils my gut. "I just hope I don't make the same mistake, Julia."

No one but me sees the surprise in her eyes before she arches a brow and nods. "Of course. And, since we're on the topic...Vale, what do you think of your brother's..." She hesitates, and there's a quiet chuckle from the crowd. "What do you think of Zane Hillocks?"

"I think-" The words sound choked, and I have to try again. I do my best to make my voice just as sweet as Julia's, and it's a lot easier to act confident when I'm not staring into her eyes. I look out into the crowd instead.

"I think that he's not the one that killed my brother, but he was related to them. I won't target him, but-" I pause, just like she did, and I can see the crowd leaning forward. My lips curl into a smirk, and it's not fake. "But if I see him in the arena, I don't think I'll hesitate to kill him."

There's some _ooh_ ing and _aah_ ing from the crowd, and Julia nods. The next few questions aren't nearly as difficult- if I reaped or volunteered, what I think of my current team, and my chances in the arena out of ten. I answer each one with a bit more confidence than the one before, and by the time we're at the last question, my voice is nearly booming.

Before I know it, I'm walking back to my place in line. As I pass Wylie, she grins at me, and for once I return it. I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders- The nervousness in my stomach is gone, at least mostly, and I feel like I'm capable of looking the crowd in the eye now. I scan them quickly and it's no longer difficult to spot Jonah and the others. I lift my hand in a little half-wave, and he returns it.

Even as I press my back to the wall and cross my arms, I have a faint grin on my face- And it stays there for the rest of the show.

* * *

We're ushered behind the curtains, and I've barely lost sight of the audience before Jangerine flings her arms around me.

I can barely stammer a question before she lets go of me, and she's looking me right in the eye when she speaks. "I'll miss you, Vale!" Her lips tremble and she scrambles towards Wylie before the waterworks begin. I hear her whisper something just as quickly, and by the time she's at Kyle, tears are rolling down her cheeks.

Our escort has to reach on our toes to wrap her arms around Jonah's neck. He gives her back a tentative pat, and there's a lot of sniffing and sobbing. Then she's on to Erika, and before my mentor can even blink she's being enveloped, too.

I know it's wrong, but I have to press the back of my hand to my lips to stop the giggles at Erika's face- Completely shocked. She scrambles to hug Jangerine back, as if she's never done it before, and when I shift my gaze I can see Jonah is grinning, too.

By the time I look back Jangerine has fled. I wince, because there's things I'd like to say- Good and bad- But the opportunity has passed.

Jonah has to kneel to fully meet my gaze, and when he does, I move to turn away. Before I can, his fingers curl around my shoulders, strong as iron bands, and I have to at least peek at his face.

"It was nice working with you, Vale Flemming." His voice is steady and deep, and I realize how much he means it. I can't just stand here. I swallow and my voice comes out high and squeaky. "You too, J-Jonah." He sends me one of his faint smiles before moving on to Karter.

I feel myself tense up when Erika comes to a stop in front of me. She towers almost five full inches above me, and her russet hair is flaming in the flashing lights. She bends at the knees and every part of me is panicking.

"Don't get yourself killed, girlie." She claps one big hand on my shoulder, and I nearly buckle. Instead, I give her a weak smile, but she only glowers at me. I realize she's waiting for me to respond.

"I won't- I mean, I'll try not to- Erika." Her name sounds just as alien the second time and I have to make up for it with another trembling grin. My mentor nods, but she's hesitating. I wonder if I've said something wrong.

I'm suddenly being crushed, suffocated- The taste of sweat burns my mouth and meaty arms are squeezing the life out of me. I squirm, but it does no good- And I can feel myself panicking as I realize I'm no match for the strength of my attacker. _I don't want to die, not after I've done so well, gotten so far-_

Except the pressure isn't increasing. I still feel like my ribs are being ground to fine powder, but I'm not actually suffocating. Now that I think about it, I can breathe, too.

The entire feeling is so familiar that I'm light-headed, though that could be because of the hug.

I have to stop right there, because that's why it was familiar. I'm being _hugged_.The sweat in my mouth is riddled with a familiar smell. The arms that have been crushing me to bits are wrapped around me, not in any kind of body lock but in an embrace. My arms are trapped to my sides, but that doesn't matter. I feel my muscles relax.

My mentor pulls back, but she's not crying. Her face is just as firm as before. "Take care of yourself, right?" She claps me on the back and nearly knocks my spinal cord into my ribs. I swallow and bob my head loosely, and she stands.

I realize I'm about to crash onto my knees, and I straighten. The rest of my team is already leaving. I stagger after them before I actually fall, and even though I know it's against my better judgement, I look back one last time.

Jonah is staring after us, a lost expression on his face that I don't think anyone can see but me. Erika has her arms crossed and her lips pressed into a thin line, and I have the weirdest feeling she's trying not to cry.

I turn back when I feel a hand on my shoulders- Nimble and light. I glance up and Dimond stares down at me, a half-smirk on her face, but her eyes tell a different story- A much sadder one.

"Hurry up, Flemming. You don't want to miss the hovercraft tomorrow, do you?"

I can only shake my head, because I'm still trying to catch my breath from Erika's hug, but she nods like she knows exactly what I'm saying. I close my eyes so I'm not tempted to look back again the entire walk to our rooms.

* * *

 **Okay, this was kind of sad. Goodbyes always are, right? Anyway, sorry this chapter took so long, and sorry it's so long. Including these little author's notes, the entire thing is 8,667 words long, the longest chapter I have _ever_ written.**

 **Next chapter we'll be 'remembering' Nash's interview, and of course all those bittersweet goodbyes. Remember to check out Soldier On and/or review, and feel free to PM me about any and all concerns or comments. Have a great day, guys. (Or night.)**


	18. Chapter 18

**Today is December 9th. Hopefully I don't take an entire week to upload a chapter again, but man was last chapter long..**

 **Anyway, you guys know I appreciate any and all reviews, or even PMs. Really, don't be afraid to criticize. It won't hurt my feelings, I promise. (Unless you're like, 'I hate your writing! The chapters are too long! The characters are stupid! What kind of name is Vale?' Bottom line, don't be rude about it.)**

 **Make sure to check out Soldier On, and enjoy!**

* * *

Light warms my face and turns the blackness behind my lids red, but I don't want to get up. The sheets are warm, and I'm exhausted from the day before. My entire body is one big mass, sore and completely comfortable at the same time. I can't feel my fingers or my legs, but that's alright. Maybe if I'm numb physically, it'll spread to my brain, too.

The moment doesn't last long. I can taste my own morning breath and feel the rheum at the corners of my eyes. I don't mean to, but almost immediately my mind turns to what happened the day before- The interview, the goodbyes. Nell's soft smile and Elvira's smirk. My mentor's hug- That one shocks me the most. I'm completely still, my eyes closed, but I'm thinking.

Simply recalling the events from yesterday makes me want to puke, but my mind betrays me anyway. I flash back to the most memorable interviews- Mine, of course, and Nash's. It's funny how I don't remember Zane's, even though he was supposed to be the prime threat. I squeeze my pillow tighter, blue eyes and brown hair appearing in my mind. It's hard to tell if the picture is of the boy from One or Twelve, and that only makes it scarier. The only difference is Nash's brown eyes, which should really be enough of a separation, but they're so cold and deep at the same time that I'm not comforted at all.

I focus on the smaller divisions- How Nash's hair is longer, curling around his ears and the back of his neck, and how he's much scrawnier. His lips are horribly chapped, too. Zane's hair is a tad lighter, straighter, and I have yet to see him smile with actual kindness. I'm really not sure there's any in his heart. He's a Career, after all.

I'm wasting time thinking about this. Just as I'm stirring, lifting one hand to tug the covers from around my legs, Dimond's voice floats towards me through the doorway, high and energetic as usual. For a moment I remember her hand on my shoulder, her warm eyes, but the feeling is whipped away almost instantly.

"Rise and shine, Vale! Wouldn't want to miss the hovercraft, would you?" I can already imagine her dimpled smirk, her wild purple hair, and I groan as I lean back on my elbows and shove myself into a sitting position. Really, I'd r _ather_ miss it, but I don't say that.

"Coming!" My voice is brittle and it cracks in the middle, and I wince as I slide off of my sheets and stretch. My bones give a satisfying _crack,_ and I it's only once I lift a hand to rub my eyes that I notice the clothes that have been prepared for me.

It's a simple brown dress with leggings, nothing special, but I'm glad for it. As great as my outfits were before, it's nice to dress like I used to for a little while- Simple and comfortable. I wiggle into the dress and claw at the tights, pulling them up to my waist. They're baggy at my knees, thighs and ankles, but that's alright. My boots- The regular ones- Sit by the door. I slip into them and almost sigh at the instant relief. These shoes and I have been through a lot, and they're almost molded to my feet. I curl my toes and uncurl them, then glance at the bedside mirror.

One good advantage to having hair as short as mine is that I rarely ever have to comb it. I run one hand through the tangles as I turn the knob and slip outside- I would brush my teeth, but if I had to be honest, I really didn't want to miss the hovercraft. Besides, I'm still half-asleep, and more than a little annoyed that I was getting up _this_ early.

I twist my lips into a grimace as my boots skim the carpet of the halls. In District 10, I always woke up early, whether it was to tend to the cows or work some leather. How long had it been- Six days? Seven? And already I was acting like a Career, with my fancy clothes and useless complaints. I shake my head to no one in particular, hugging my arms. If being in the Capitol had changed me, what would the arena do?

I try not to go down that aisle- I've been avoiding it for the past week, and I'm sticking to my plan. My savior comes in the form of a puffy skirt and bright purple hair; Dimond, dancing her way towards me, her eyes bright. She says something and I pretend to hear, but I'm already walking past her.

The room I trail into is what looks like entirely metal. I don't feel light-headed or off-balance at all even as I step on board, which strikes me as odd, but I'm grateful. The last thing I want is to hurl all over the floors of the hovercraft and make an even bigger idiot out of myself- If that's possible. The outer Districts are never too popular anyway.

The woman standing near the entrance is dressed entirely in white, and her hair is in a bun so tight it seems to be stretching the skin on her face. She has high cheekbones and eyes the color of chocolate, but they're not warm at all. When she takes out the needle, I nearly freak.

And then Dimond is behind me, and she's so tall I can't even feel her breath on my neck. "Don't go ballistic, Flemming. It's just a needle. It won't hurt- It's only a tracker. I promise." I crane my neck and I can see her grinning at me, and my shoulders fall a bit.

I take a step forward and stretch out one arm without being told to- In Ten, right before the reapings, all the kids would be jammed with needles, though that was our fingers. I guess it was supposed to keep track, but I didn't like them, and I still _don't._ I try to look away but end up staring at the needle as it punctures my skin.

It doesn't hurt nearly as much as I thought it would, even with my arm tensed. I practically yank it away as soon as the woman withdraws the needle, and I don't wait for her to give me a funny look before I scurry past.

Dimond strides after me, but I don't look back. I can't help but think of the tracker in my arm- The limits of the Capitol's control seem endless. I wonder, distantly, if I could dig it out, but the idea is so absurd and admittedly pointless that I dismiss it immediately. So what if they know where I am? I'll be on TV anyway. It's the _Games,_ for Panem's sake.

I snort to myself and a few people I pass stare at me from the corners of their eyes. I don't dare look back, and instead train my gaze ahead, pretending I don't notice. I can't tell if Dimond's still behind me or not, which is worrying and relieving at the same time. I'm blinking back tears that I didn't know had started until my eyes begin to burn. I take a big sniff and blink hard to make the feeling disappear.

By the time the feeling's gone, I'm in the breakfast area- At least, I assume that's where I am. There's at least five tables, all piled high with food, and to one side one of those self-serving counters with all the glass containers and spoons. All I can do is stand in the entrance, and even though I can feel the hunger stirring within my stomach, I feel sick. I don't want to eat one bit of anything here- I don't want to eat at all, actually. Just the smell of baked goods and stripped meat makes vomit rise into my throat. I swallow it just in time, but I'm left feeling worse than before. I curl my fingers around my dress until they ache, blinking once, twice, three times. Trying to get a hold of myself.

And then the smell of hair oil and perfume wafts towards me, and Dimond is here, and her lips are moving, but I can't hear her. I won't. I want to cover my ears and clutch my stomach and wipe my tears at the same time, but I can only do two, so I stand there sniffling instead.

"Shh..Shh. Vale." She bends her knees to take a look at me, but I close my eyes. The only thought that's running through my head right now is that I couldn't possibly look more pathetic. I've broken down in front of all these people, and now I'm being babied by my stylist. My misery takes on a whole new weight.

I feel a sting on my cheek, more of a pat than anything, and my eyes open on instinct. They meet Dimond's brown ones, and hers are so bright and honest that I squirm in her grip. I don't remember her laying a finger on me, but now she's got both hands wrapped around my arms, and she's taller and heavier- Her grip is like iron. So I stare back.

She waits till she's sure I'm paying attention, and her words are slow and gentle. "Vale. I know this is all very new to you, but.." Her eyes flicker with something like doubt, but it's gone before I can get a true glimpse. "You have to eat. You are going _into the arena._ You need all the nutrients possible. Not only will that make you stronger and more alert in a fight.." She's lost me again, and I feel her nails digging into my skin, not quite drawing blood but enough to return my attention to her face. "Not only will it make you more alert, but none of us know what it's going to be like. It could be bursting with food or there could be very little. We- You- _Need_ to take advantage."

Maybe all this is supposed to be making me feel better, but it's not. Her face is so close to mine and her words are so deliberate that I know each one is true. The problem is, I don't _want_ to be here. I don't want to be in there, either. And I still don't want to eat.

Her grip tightens when she shakes me, and I have to focus on her face again. Her face, shaped like an oval, her shock of purple hair, the spray of freckles across her nose. I swallow, hard, but don't speak- One more thing I'm just not in the mood to do.

"Now go eat." She doesn't raise her voice in any way, but I can hear the steel in her tone. I don't have a choice. I don't even have the heart to glare at her as she stands, brushing herself off as if nothing has happened- And I can't help but look up one last time. Her eyes are a lot warmer than the woman that stuck a needle to my skin.

"Trust me, Vale." Her lips curl in a little smile, and with Dimond, I'm not even sure if it's real or not. She keeps staring, so I spin on my heel and go get a plate.

The entire time I'm gathering my food, I can feel her gaze like a laser on my nape. Goosebumps have erupted along my skin, and I'm still clutching my stomach when I slide into a seat.

I still don't have an appetite, but I can still feel two very brown eyes staring holes into my esophagus, so I nibble my sandwich. I only finish half of it, and then a pure boiled egg, but I'm not drinking anything. I don't think I could keep it down. Even the thought makes my stomach do flip-flops, so I focus on eating instead.

I'm barely paying attention to the people around me. Tributes stack themselves all around me, sticking to their own Districts- Unless their Careers. One, Two and Four have already claimed a large table at the end, and I can hear their booming laughter even from my seat. I suppress a shudder and spoon the last of my breakfast past my lips.

I look up, but Dimond is gone. I feel my gut clench and my brow furrow but I have to ignore it. She can't stick around forever, surely- But I hope that she'll at least be by my side when I'm going into the arena. It's a big hope.

I'm just standing when a familiar sneer sounds at my shoulder. "Heya, _Ten."_

I feel a weight drop into my stomach and it's not the eggs. I'm too afraid to turn around, so I stare at my plate instead, gripping my fork like it's a weapon. My skin is already hot and itchy except for that cold spot at the base of my spine, where I'm sure my taunter's gaze is fixed.

I want to snap a retort but my throat is jammed shut. That's just fine with the person behind me, though.

"Shy, are you? Sure didn't look like it yesterday up on that stage. Nice interview." I can already picture the smirk on his face, pouring sarcasm into his voice. His words send another hot spike through me but when I respond my voice is much quieter than I've imagined it to be.

"Go away." It's a mutter, really, and not my best comeback. I don't have to look over my shoulder to hear the grin in his voice. "I'm just saying hello, Vale." The shift of cloth that I'm sure is his shrugging. "Don't worry, I'm not staying long- We'll see each other soon enough in the arena, won't we?"

Just his tone makes me scowl. He's toying with me- Is my name Ten, or Vale?- But my anger is crushed almost immediately by the wave of fear that comes with those last words. _We'll see each other soon enough in the arena, won't we?_ We both know it's true, and I'm not sure why it makes my nerves go white-hot with adrenaline; It's not like I've expected to avoid him. Not consciously, at least.

I've been standing still for a few moments too long. I gnaw my lip and when I dare to glance over my shoulder, he's gone- All I can see his the curve of his back, his broad shoulders, and his hair, flat and light, almost paper-thin against his neck. Every muscle in his upper body ripples as he swaggers back over to his table.

I feel my breakfast coming back up and I toss the plate before I can get even sicker. I'm storming out of the room without really feeling my boots on the carpet or the air around me. My vision is hazy and I really can't tell if it's with anger or tears- Maybe both. I shake my head and lower my gaze so no one can see, and to my relief it only takes a few deep breaths for it to disappear. Even better, when I lift my head for a look at my surroundings, there stands Dimond in all her purple-haired, brown-eyed, fluffy-skirted glory.

"Took you long enough," She chirps. I expect her to ask me if I've eaten, but her gaze scans me up and down like a razor and I have a feeling she knows anyway. Instead of walking past her, I pause at her side- I'm tired of being taken by surprise every time one of us walks away. _Coward. You only want her here so the Careers don't get to you first._

I tell that part of my mind to take a hike.

We each take a seat- The belt strips are thin and tight, the back looks and feels like smooth black plastic- Not comfortable at all- and the metal sheets on either side of us are more like walls than armrests, but I can't complain. Anything to keep me from sliding around is just fine- _Not that I'm afraid of heights._ My own actions deny my thoughts, though- I avoid looking at the window for the entire ride, though I can see Dimond glancing over her shoulder every now and then to check.

The space we're in seems much smaller now that I'm sitting down in it. Almost everything glows blue; The lines above and below are feet, certain designs in the chairs, and a wide pathway from us to who-knows-where. Now that I think about it, it really does feel like space- Not that I've ever seen it, except for my school's blurred pictures of a black sky and white pinpricks of light that are, of course, the stars.

Things like this are supposed to be beautiful, but to me it's unnervingly eery. All around me tributes and mentors' faces alike glow blue, making us all look pale and ghostly. Besides, you can't breath in space.

I have no idea how long we've been flying. I'm bad at time either way, and if I have to be honest I _don't care._ My gut is shrinking and twisting like some kind of wild, slimy animal with its heart in its throat. I'm already light-headed and I haven't even dressed and entered the arena- Something inside me screams _pitiful._ I force my lips into one of those thin lines that tells people I don't want to talk as I trail after my stylist.

Dimond prods me into a metal room somewhat like the one my prep team said goodbye to me in, but this one is circular and much bigger. Thinking of my prep team immediately makes my eyes sting and feel tired, and I have to tumble the thought of them to the corner of my mind where it can't resurface in the arena. I glance back, expecting to see her gone, but my stylist still stands there, giving me this funny little smile. "Go get ready. Clothes are..Er..I'll get them-" She shrugs a shoulder- "And the shower's over there, room to your left. There's towels in there and everything." I have no choice but to scoot over to the room she's pointed out.

Thankfully, the taps aren't nearly as complicated as the ones back in our rooms- The water gushes out clear and cold, and they've even got barred soap- Something I haven't seen for ages. I take full advantage, careful not to press any of the buttons arranged to the left of the shower head; I've had enough perfumed bubbles for a lifetime.

There's a metal door set into the wall- I open it, more out curiosity than any certainty at all, and I'm fully surprised to find a bedroom. It's not nearly as fancy as the one on the tenth floor, that much is for sure; The bed is smaller, the walls have no paint, and the carpet looks shabby and torn. There's clothes set on the sheets, though, and that's all I'm here for; Forgetting to turn the knob behind me, I run my fingers over the material.

I frown because this uniform looks almost exactly like the ones I've seen on television- There's no fur lining and the material isn't flexible enough that I'm expecting water. Just as I've craned my neck to zip up the back, Dimond steps into the room, looking cheery. I stagger back onto the bed with a mild curse, but the woman in front of me only beams wider.

"Almost done?" She doesn't wait for an answer- In fact, she's already pulling the door open again. "Come out in five minutes-" I hear the click of a knob and her voice fades away. My stomach lurches; I have yet to brush my hair or even my teeth. Forgetting the zipper, I grab the nearest comb available; My own hand.

I trail my fingers through my hair carefully, and there's no time for oils or even a paint for my face; I pull open the door as my stylist has, hardly bothering to see if it's closed before I'm scrambling across the room. I suddenly feel sick, and I'm sure it's not my breakfast; My head is pounding and my stomach churns as if my own intestines have come alive. The idea doesn't help at all; I clutch the thin material of my suit with one hand and wave, rather weakly, with the other. If Dimond notices my sudden illness she doesn't comment.

"..Won't be cold," She hums, and I realize she's been talking. She's not looking at me, though. "There's nothing on your one-piece to indicate a drop in temperature...Though, as thin as it is, you very well might be put into a desert." Here she glances over her shoulders, one purple brow arched, and I remember to meet her gaze just in time. Satisfied, she continues our walk down the corridor.

"I doubt there'll be water, though you never know with these Games. Maybe something a bit warm, some rolling hills, or a meadow?" She pauses for a moment and I stagger to the side just in time to avoid bumping into her. "Not that the Gamemakers would ever be so _simple.._ "

I'm barely registering her words, lost in my own thoughts, specifically the ones that include me dying a gruesome and slow death as a result of the upcoming Bloodbath. I've always looked away from the screen when it shows, though lack of vision never conceals the high-pitched screams, the low growls, the sickening _thuds_ and _crunches_ of combat. It occurs to me that I've yet to come in contact with my ally- I haven't seen her since training, which was- What- Three days ago, now? I wonder if the alliance is even still _on._

This one thought sends me spiraling into an even deeper panic. I could very well walk into the arena believing myself supported and surrounded by friends- _Allies,_ I remind myself- Or I could be creeping into a trap, one in which I'm alone. For all I know the alliance _could_ have been cancelled without my knowing; After all, I haven't made much effort to speak to Lavenne. I flash back to the last time we talked and, really, I can't even remember her promising to stay in touch.

Dimond halts in front of me and this time I can't catch myself in time. We collide, sending both of us forward, and she catches her balance first; I topple past her, arms windmilling, and it's only when her fingers catch my shoulder that I recover.

"Watch where you're going, Flemming." Her voice isn't icy; On the contrary, she sounds warm, maybe even amused. It's because of this that, when I look up, I can't help but let my eyes widen- Hers are swimming with tears.

I take the moment to let five words- all completely true and entirely idiotic at the same time- fall from my lips.

"I don't want to go."

My stylist gnaws her lip and I suddenly feel weak for confiding in her- Really, this is the sort of thing I would usually keep to myself. I make to turn away, but her hand is still on my shoulder, and she steers me back to face her. Her voice is much quieter, softer, and warbling than I've ever heard it.

"I don't want you to go either."

And then there's water in my eyes too. I give a great, big sniff, because I can already feel the snot gathering at my nose, and Dimond imitates me- Though hers comes out much more choked. I want to hug her but I don't, so I stare at her instead, which doesn't help at all; She stares back, which only makes it harder for me to control myself. It's not that I want to, not really; I want to sob into her shoulder and have her tell me everything's going to be alright- That maybe this is all just a bad dream- But I'm a tribute, not a toddler. The force it takes for me to rip my gaze from hers is enough to move the Capitol itself.

 _Don't look at her._

 _Don't speak._

 _Just..Move._

"I'm not feeling well."

It's a lie and a truth. My stomach hurts worse than ever, and the space behind my eyes ache, but physically, I know I'm in perfectly good health. It's all nerves, but the thought isn't doing anything for my cramped insides or my salt-stained lips.

My stylist tilts her head and I'm reminded of a bird- Wide, shimmering, eyes, a spray of freckles across her nose, and short, cropped hair. Then she straightens, and her hand falls from my shoulder. I instantly feel cold- And lonely- And worse than ever. I don't say any of this.

"You'll be fine." Her voice is steadier, now, almost steely, like maybe she wants to get this over with. I feel a stab of hurt but it disappears almost immediately when I realize I feel the same way. I don't register how blatantly _untrue_ her words are until seconds later.

It wasn't going to be fine. I was going to be dropped into an unknown habitat designed to kill- A habitat designed to change at will, to deceive all, and to imprison us. Most important of all, a habitat that would shove us all- Whether we wanted it to or not- in the direction of murder.

"Okay."

I feel my mind shutting down- Not in the way it would if I was falling unconscious, but more as if I'm going into shock. Dimond's next words are a dull buzz, and when she smiles at me I can't return it. My lips tremble too much and my eyes burn.

A handshake is all I get. Her fingers are warm and slim, and miraculously pale against mine. I wonder if we can stay that way forever, but the next moment my palm is empty and the coldness from before is back. My stylist gives me one last look- One that brims with happiness and remorse at the same time, serenity and rage, strength and weakness. My eyes meet hers for about a split second and then, as if I've been programmed, I turn.

I don't feel myself walking towards the glass tube, and it's as if I've gone through time; One moment, I'm sending my stylist a last glance, a last plea for help, and the next, I'm standing- straight and stiff as a board- On the other side of the glass. I'm not sure if it's my eyes or the recent technology of the Capitol, but the glass before me blurs.

I'm going up. It's the feeling you get riding on an elevator; A light head and a lighter stomach. I want to close my eyes but they're still wet so I keep them wide open, hoping they'll stay right there under my eyelashes- The last thing I need is to be caught on camera showing a weakness like this.

I flinch and bend my knees slightly when Chase Flickerman's voice booms from invisible speakers. It's so loud and sudden that I stand there, shocked, my mind momentarily blank.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen...To the ninety-ninth annual Hunger Games!"

* * *

 **Warning. OVERDUE CHAPTER! Remember when I said, 'hope this doesn't take a week like last chapter!' IT TOOK TWO! I'm such a lazy nugget.**

 **I've been feeling a little down lately. A close family member just died, and I more or less took a toll. I've never had anyone that close to me die before, so it came as a bit of a shock..**

 **Enough rambling about my shabby winter break. I hope you enjoy this chapter- though, admittedly, it is NOT my best- And MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU ALL!**


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